


The Fellowship of Wizarding

by RobinLo



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, M/M, No Incest, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:15:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLo/pseuds/RobinLo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merry and Pippin are starting off their fifth year at Hogwarts with their best prank yet, Gandalf is up to something, Éowyn is aiming to win the Quidditch cup, and Faramir is exasperated. Business as usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Swamp by Any Other Name Would Smell as Foul

**Author's Note:**

> Disappointed by the lack of Hogwarts AUs I decided to write this, cheered on by my partner who has fueled my Merry/Pippin shipping like gasoline on a flame. I'm fairly certain this would not be written if not for her, so kudos to her for egging me on <3 She should be able to make me update this until it's complete.  
> I also need to point out that incestual relationship squicks me out, so in this fic Merry and Pippin are NOT related, I repeat they are NOT blood relatives. I also took the liberty to change the law prohibiting underage students to use magic outside of Hogwarts because of plot reasons. Besides, it's a silly rule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Chapters 1-5 are now slightly edited to remove grammar mistakes I missed the first time around and improve the overall flow of the text.

In a castle in Scotland there lived some students. Not a nasty, dirty, damp ruin of a castle, filled with bats and spiders (except on Halloween), though for the occasional muggle who wandered too close it certainly looked the part; it was a magical castle, a school of wizardry and witchcraft, and that meant a certain comfort. 

The most comfortable place in the entire castle was the Hufflepuff common room, conveniently located just by the kitchens, filled with a plethora of comfy chairs, and with the fireplace always blazing.It was in front of this fire that Frodo and Sam were sprawled out in a sofa, sharing a pot of tea and a platter of scones they had cadged from the kitchens, when Merry and Pippin burst into the room, rolling out of the hidden entrance absolutely covered with muck. They scrambled to their feet and rushed over to Frodo and Sam. 

“Quick Frodo, a cleaning spell!” Merry panted, trying to wring some mud out of his hair.

“What have you two been up to?” Frodo asked, frowning as the smell of vinegar filled the room. 

“Took a dip in a bog, not important,” Pippin responded, nervously looking over his shoulder. “Please just get this off us before the caretaker gets here and we all get in trouble.” 

“Why would we get in trouble?” Sam asked. “We haven't done anything.” 

“Neither of you are Hufflepuffs though, are you? So if you don't want to get thrown out of here, leaving all those yummy scones for us to finish, just clean us up and we won't tell.” 

Frodo sighed and stood up, digging around in the sofa for his wand. When he finally found it he pointed it at Pippin and Merry respectively and muttered, “ _Tergeo_ .” 

Merry hit the floor and hid underneath the sofa the moment he was reasonably clean, and moments later they heard the secret entrance opening accompanied by the sound of aggressive grumbling. Sam hastily tugged off his red and gold tie and stuffed it underneath a cushion before a pointy grey hat entered the room, followed by a grey beard and grey robes. 

“Mr Gandalf,” Pippin said nonchalantly while Frodo and Sam did their best to look like they weren't even there, “Fancy seeing you here on a fine day like this.” 

“Do not play games with me, young mister. I know very well that you and that rascal friend of yours are behind the swamp on the third floor. One day you have been back in this castle, one day, and you're already causing trouble.” 

“I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. That swamp has been there for nigh on twenty years now, everyone knows that.” 

“Not spread across the whole corridor it hasn't. Do not try to deny it, Mr Took. Your muddy footprints lead me all the way down here.” 

“Oh dear me. Someone must have enlarged it again. I hear it happens every year. However, as you can see, my shoes are perfectly clean. Not a speck on them. I polish them every day you know.”

Gandalf narrowed his eyes at the lack of on Pippin's person, sniffed him, and said, “Then how do you explain this foul stench?” 

“Oh, just a minor mishap with the secret entrance, I always forget the number of syllables in ‘Helga Hufflepuff’. Isn't it just so unfair how they douse you in vinegar if you get the rhythm wrong? The smell is quite tricky to get rid off. You should know, you're the one who has to clean it up every time some unlucky sod gets drenched.” 

Gandalf just grumbled at Pippin's shiteating grin and left the common room with a last grouse about the Took family. 

“That was close,” Merry said and rolled out from under the sofa. 

“What did you _do_ ?” Sam asked, still wide-eyed with secondhand fear of the caretaker. 

“Weren't you listening? We honoured the yearly tradition of enlarging the little corner-swamp up on the second floor.” 

“Exactly how big did you make it?” Frodo asked. “Mr Gandalf seemed pretty pissed off.”

“Right, so if this is the corridor,” Pippin said and held up his hands a foot apart, “Then this is the bog.” He didn't move his hands. 

“You filled the whole corridor?” 

“That is… essentially, exactly the way it happened.” 

“Essentially,” Merry finished.

Frodo shook his head, but there was a slight smile on his lips. 

“And were you standing in the middle of the corridor when you did it? Or did you simply decide a mudbath was just what you needed after a hard day of mischief?” 

Pippin looked sheepish. “I dropped my wand in the bog and had to go in after it.” 

“And you couldn't just use _accio_ ?” 

“That... is a very valid question.” 

“So both of you needed to plunge in to look for it?” 

“Actually Pip fell in when he tried to reach it,” Merry said, “Then I fell too when I tried to pull him out of it.” 

“And the vinegar?” 

Pippin grinned. “A cunning plan to disguise the smell of bog. We knew Gandalf was on our heels, so I got the entrance code wrong on purpose so it would spray us with the stuff.” 

“No Pip, that's only what you realised after already getting it wrong because your memory is crap,” Merry corrected him. 

“Well it worked, didn't it?”

 

* * *

 

When Merry woke up the next morning, he realised that going to bed without a shower after a bath in both stinking mud and vinegar was a Bad Idea, cleaning spell or no cleaning spell. The smell lingered even after the hasty shower he barely had time to take before he needed to get down from the Ravenclaw tower and to the Great Hall in time for breakfast. He had a free period first thing in the morning, but Pippin and Faramir would soon need to leave for their first period and he didn't want to miss them. 

With his clothes in a disarray, tie just shoved into his pocket, he gathered the necessary books for the day - there was no way he was going all the way up the tower for them again - and threw them in his bag before pulling on his shoes. He had told himself that this would be the year that he stopped oversleeping and got down to the Great Hall in time to actually enjoy the breakfast instead of just shoving down a piece of toast. He had even spelled an alarm clock to work inside the magically charged environment of the castle that usually caused any electronics to short-circuit. His mobile phone still wouldn't work though, but he heard a couple of sixth-year students were finally making progress on their guinea-pig laptop. Next step was setting up a Wi-Fi network. 

A hasty glance at the alarm clock told him that he had set it an hour too late, and after correcting it and thanking his lucky star that he had only overslept fifteen minutes he left the dormitory, crossing the spacious common room in seconds, only to stop outside the entrance. 

A first-year stood in front of the door with tears in her eyes, clutching her bag to her chest. 

Merry let the door swing shut behind him and said, “Hey now, what's the matter?” 

The girl watched the closed door with what looked like renewed despair, more tears welling up by the second. 

“Oh no, it's alright,” Merry said and hunched over to get on eye level with her. “I bet it's that bloody door, isn't it?” 

The girl nodded. “I left and then I realised I'd forgotten my books, and then I couldn't get in again because I didn't know the answer to the riddle, and it's so stupid to cry about, I'm so stupid, who even forgets the books, everything is just stupid, and now I can't get in and I don't know why the hat even put me in Ravenclaw when I can't even answer a stupid _riddle_.”

Merry sighed as the girl took a deep, shaky breath, using the pause to get a word in. 

“You know, when I first got here I once had to wait four hours for someone else to come and open the door. I didn't dare stop anyone just passing in the hallway to ask them for the answer, because that felt like cheating. And while I waited I thought that surely they would kick me out of the house, realise I didn't belong in Ravenclaw and make me sleep in the corridor if the hat wouldn't put me in another house. Then someone came along and answered the riddle, and I felt like a right git when I heard how simple the answer was. I almost started crying then and there. But you know what the person who let me in said to me then?” 

The girl wiped her tears and shook her head. 

“They told me that I should never be scared to admit that I don't know the answer to something, and that there is no shame in asking for help, because knowledge is nothing if not shared with others. The next time I couldn't figure it out I just told the door I didn't have the answer, but that I would love to hear it, and it told me the answer and gave me a new riddle.”

“And did you know that one?” The girl had stopped crying. 

“God no, it took me three more tries before I made it, but that taught me a bit about how the door thinks, and that made it easier to figure it out the next time. Smarts is one of those things you can practise, you don't have to instantly become a riddle-solving genius when you're sorted into Ravenclaw. All that matters is that you are willing to learn and grow.” 

The first-year was smiling shyly by now, and Merry straightened up and said, “Let me see what the old door was asking for this time, eh?” 

They turned to the bronze knocker who immediately said, “Voiceless I cry, wingless I flutter, toothless I bite, and mouthless I mutter. What am I?” 

“Ah, a tricky one to start with. What do you think?” 

“I don't know, I thought about a robot at first but who has ever heard of a fluttering robot?” 

“I like the way you think with the whole ‘making noise without an actual mouth’ thing though. What else isn't actually alive but makes sounds?” 

“Um… A TV, a radio, old houses, fires, storms-” 

“You're getting very close! Keep thinking nature phenomena, and which ones can both make sounds and are described as ‘biting.’” 

The first-year scrunched up her face in concentration, and after a moment she lit up and exclaimed, “Wind! It's the wind!” 

The door opened and Merry gave the girl a high five. 

“There you go! You just have to get used to the way of thinking. Now get your stuff, we’re running late.”

 

* * *

 

“What kept you so long?” Pippin asked when Merry finally arrived at the Hufflepuff table and sat down on his right. “We need to get going in like five minutes.” 

“Actually you have to get going in five minutes. I, on the other hand, have a free period so the only reason I'm here at all is because a life without breakfast isn't a life worth living. I would've been here earlier, but I messed up the alarm. The spell seems to be working though,” Merry said, leisurely spreading jam on some toast. 

Pippin sat up straighter. “You need to fix my clock too then.” 

There was a snort from Pippin’s left.  
  
“Since when do you two care about getting to class in time?”  
  
Pippin smiled. “Not class, my dear Faramir Stewart. _Breakfast_ . At the end of the last semester I woke up an hour early by accident, and had to wait in the Great Hall for several minutes before breakfast was served. It was then I discovered that they serve fried mushrooms every morning, but I'm never there early enough to get some. _That_ is why I tasked Merry with coming up with a spell to fix our alarm clocks.” 

“All this for some fungi?” 

“Faramir. Faramir, Faramir, Faramir,” Merry said, shaking his head. “Not fungi. _Mushrooms_ _._ Fried and buttery and delicious. They're worth waking up early for. In fact, mushrooms are pretty much the only thing in this dark and awful world that is worth getting up in the morning for at all. And tomorrow the one who gets to eat all the fungi is _this_ fun guy.” 

Faramir groaned and turned back to his history book. 

“Well played,” Pippin said and clasped Merry’s shoulder. 

“Thanks, I try,” Merry responded around the toast in his mouth. 

“Hey, can you do my tie?” 

“Pip, it's your fifth year at Hogwarts and you still can't do your own tie. You realise that's a bit pathetic right?” 

“What’s the point of learning if I can just have you do it at the beginning of the year and then never untie it? 

Merry just sighed and reached for the tie hanging around Pippin's neck. Pippin immediately stilled, enjoying the feeling of being pampered by Merry. 

“So did anyone say anything about you-know-what before I got here?” Merry asked while he worked, the tip of his tongue sticking out adorably in concentration. 

Pippin grinned. “Oh yeah, Lady Galadriel herself have a speech about how the school appreciates keeping history alive and honouring traditions, but that they preferred if we could do it in a way that didn't inconvenience the whole school.” 

“Do you know if they managed to remove the swamp already?” 

“That's the best part! Rumour has it even old Professor White couldn't remove it, and that the new teacher, Professor Elessar, fell in it when he tried to get out of his office this morning.” 

“Yes!” Merry exclaimed, and then lowered his voice when people turned to look at him. “I knew that spell would work. With a bit of luck it'll take them at least a week to get rid of it.” 

Pippin grinned and pretended not to notice that Merry’s hands had remained on the now finished knot around his neck. 

“Do you think Professor Elessar will be pissed? We have him in Defence Against the Dark Arts this afternoon, right?” Merry continued, absentmindedly patting the tie. “Of all the people we could have pissed off, the Defence teacher might be the worst.” 

“I saw him at the teachers’ table during the welcome feast. He looked really shady.” 

“Well, he won't know it was us, so we should be in the clear. Unless Gandalf snitched and told everyone he suspects us…” 

“Who cares, they have no proof. Besides, they wouldn't let a teacher hex students.” 

Merry grimaced. “No, just give us detention.”

They were interrupted when a tall shadow approached. 

“There you are Merry. I've been looking for you everywhere.” 

“Morning Éowyn.” 

As Merry removed his hands from his tie, Pippin turned to look at the Ravenclaw girl who had spoken. 

“I expect you to be at training at 6 tonight,” Éowyn said. 

“Good morning to you too, Merry, how was your summer, Merry? Do you think you can make it to training tonight, my dear friend?” Merry responded with a smirk. 

“Oh come off it, we had class together yesterday. I just need you to be extra focused on quidditch this year, because this _will_ be the year that we finally squash those no good Hufflepuff bastards. No offense Peregrin.” 

“I'm more offended by you using my full name than insulting my team,” Pippin said. 

“I try not to fraternise with the enemy,” Éowyn responded coolly, but with a hint of a smirk. 

“Oh Éowyn, I'm hurt. Just because we play on opposing teams doesn't mean we can't be the very bestest of friends.” 

“Yeah, Éowyn,” Merry agreed, “You know I literally bat for the other team, yet you allow me to be a Beater on yours.” 

Éowyn let out a snort. “Just don't go leaking any of our tactics to your little boyfriend here and I couldn't care less. See you later.”

Pippin stared after Éowyn as she left the Great Hall, then he turned back to Merry who was shovelling eggs into his face.

“Does she really think I'm your boyfriend?” he asked.

“Nah, she's just jealous you don't bat those big beautiful green eyes at her.”

“What? Really?” Faramir asked, dropping his book onto his plate.

“No, not really,” Merry said. “Everyone knows her true love is quidditch. Pippin wouldn't stand a chance against her broom, even if he weren't on the enemy team.”

“Oh,” Faramir said. Then, “Shit, we need to leave Pippin. History starts in ten minutes.”

“Relax, Professor Binns won't even notice if we're late.”

“But he's promised to go into more detail about the history of witch-hunts in Europe this year. I don't want to miss anything.”

“Merlin's beard, you're such a nerd. Alright then, let's go. Bye Merry, see you at Potions later.” 

 

* * *

 

Art by the lovely [TheBigDipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBigDipper/pseuds/TheBigDipper)!


	2. A Letter from Gandalf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentioning of bombs and bombs in schools.
> 
> Edit: Chapters 1-5 are now slightly edited to remove grammar mistakes I missed the first time around and improve the overall flow of the text.

 

After stuffing himself with more beans on toast, eggs, and bacon than anyone should be allowed to eat in a week, Merry snuck down to the Hufflepuff dormitory to fix Pippin's alarm clock. He'd been working on the spell all summer in his family's old library, the only place outside of Hogwarts he could find that was magically charged enough to work as a suitable testing environment.

He knew that several students before him had managed the spell before, he had even seen someone talking in a mobile phone back in his first year, but no one seemed willing to share the spell outside their group of friends. Especially bad were the other Ravenclaws. Every time he asked one of them they would just say ‘You figure it out yourself, it's a good learning opportunity’, which was a valid point, but it didn't make it any less annoying. Maybe if he had sent Pippin to ask them they would have said yes. He wasn't a Ravenclaw, and no one could say no to that adorable face.

Merry smiled as he entered Pippin's bedroom. Finding and enchanting the alarm clock was a moment's work, then he looked around for a quill and parchment to write a letter to their families. This was harder to find, because although they had spent less than three days at Hogwarts, Pippin had already surrounded his bed with a near impenetrable mess. Merry eventually gave up and got out the spiral notebook and pen he used to make notes in class, even though Merry's parents were the old fashioned type who would prefer a letter on good, sturdy parchment, written in ink. A pen technically ran on ink anyway.

Merry sat down on Pippin's bed and opened his notebook. Writing to his parents was always a challenge, because the only interesting things to write about were also the sort of things he would be grounded for if he did them at home.

After a moment's thought Merry scribbled down his usual generic “the trip was nice, weather alright, I'll say hi to old Bilbo for you, please send more sweets” message. He ripped out the page of the book and folded it for later. Then he picked up the pen again and started on the letter for Pippin's mum.

 

> Dearest Eglantine, I’m happy to report that Pippin has not yet, at the time of writing, been given detention. However, we have only had one day of class, so that may change at any time. I want to assure you, that if you should hear about anything swamp-related happening, that it had nothing to do with either of us.  
>   The train ride was pleasant as always, but Pippin ate all the sweets you packed him, so he will need another care package asap or he will get grumpy. He ate all my sweets too, by the way, so if you would feel like including some of your lovely chocolate truffles in the package that would really make my day.   
>   Harry Potter’s eldest kid was sorted into Gryffindor at the Great Feast. Pippin was so disappointed, but who is surprised really? I told him that at least he had Potter’s godson in his house, but he said that Teddy is a Head Boy and therefore doesn’t count.   
>   Anyway, Pippin sends his love and says that he would love to write you himself, but he’s afraid he can’t express his deep homesickness on paper, and his heart is filled with nothing else, so what’s the point? Have a nice day Mrs Took!   
>    
>  The kindest of regards,   
>  _Meriadoc Brandybuck_   
>    
>  P.S. Hazelnut truffles are my favourite. Just saying.

Satisfied with the letter, Merry folded it and shoved it in his bag together with the one to his own parents. With some concentration he managed to leave the bed without stepping on any of Pippin’s scattered belongings, and then he left to send the letters.

The way from the Hufflepuff basement to the Owlery tower was filled with a ridiculous number of stairs, and by the time he was halfway there he was already cursing himself for not just leaving all his stuff in his room and getting it on the way from the Owlery to Potions. Caught up as he were in his ponderings about which levitation spell would be most effective to lighten the load of his course books, he walked into a grey figure writing a letter in the middle of stair #1382.  
  
“Watch it!” Gandalf bellowed as he spilled his inkwell over them both. “Now look what you’ve done Mr Brandybuck!”

“You’re the one who spilled ink all over my shirt! Who even writes on a staircase anyway? Don’t you have an office?”  
  
Gandalf narrowed his eyes and glared at Merry, who cleared his throat and said, “I mean- I’m sorry Mr Gandalf, it won’t happen again.”   
  
The caretaker grumbled and looked at the letter in his hand. Fortunately it had escaped any major spillage. He signed it with what looked like a simple rune and folded the parchment.   
  
“As repayment for the mess you created you might as well take this letter with you to the Owlery too.”   
  
“How did you know I was going to the Owlery?” Merry asked, taking the letter.   
  
Gandalf smirked and tapped the side of his nose. “A wizard never reveals his secrets,” he said, screwed the lid onto the inkwell, and put it and the quill in his pocket. He took out his wand and cleaned the spilled ink off his hands and sleeves.   
  
“We’re both wizards though,” Merry protested.   
  
“Just send the letter. My owl Glamdring will know where to take it. Well, off you go. What are you waiting for?”   
  
“Aren’t you going to clean me up as well?” Merry asked, gesturing at his soaked pullover.   
  
“Don’t they teach you to do anything yourselves at this school anymore?” Gandalf responded, and left.   
  
Merry tried to perform the same spell that Frodo had used to scrub him down after the swamp incident, but just managed to make himself a little less sticky. He sighed and looked at his ruined clothes. He would have to go change before continuing to the Owlery. Typical. Oh well, at least the Ravenclaw tower wasn't too far from the Owlery.

As he changed out of the ruined clothes, Merry reflected on how, considering his and Pippin's knack of getting into messy situations, he really should have learnt how to perform a simple cleaning spell by now. He would have to pay attention in Charms this year. He reached for a damp cloth to scrub the ink off his skin. Why the hell would anyone write a letter in the middle of a staircase anyway? There must be a million better places in the castle, number one being Gandalf’s own desk. Merry knew he had one. He had been on the other side of it reporting for detention more times than he could count, more often than not with Pippin by his side.

He sighed and put the cloth away. He swore Gandalf had it out for him and Pippin. He was regularly seen lurking about in the corridors, watching the students suspiciously, and seemed to have an almost supernatural ability to hear if someone was plotting mischief. More than once he had appeared around a corner just seconds after Merry and Pippin had pulled off their latest prank, taking them by the ears and marching them down to his office for an official detention report. It was spooky how much he seemed to know about what went on in the castle.

Merry shrugged into a clean shirt and pullover and hung his spare tie around his neck, but before he could start tying it his gaze fell on Gandalf's letter lying on the bed. It had partially unfolded when he threw it on the messy covers, and Merry was overcome with a sudden urge to read it. Honestly, if he was going to do old Gandalf a favour and send it he might as well be allowed to read it. It was only fair, right?

While absentmindedly fixing his tie, Merry tried to guess what the letter could possibly contain. Since caretakers lived at the castle all year round they were usually not the family type, so a letter to a family member was unlikely. Maybe an order for whatever magical cleaning products Diagon Alley had to offer, or perhaps an old school friend. The curiosity was too strong to ignore, and as soon as he was done with his tie Merry grabbed the letter and unfolded it. It was an order alright, but not for cleaning products. It was a long list of different substances that sounded suspiciously like-

 

* * *

 

“Explosives, Pip!” Merry hissed when he caught up with Pippin and Faramir as they made their way to Potions. “Gandalf is ordering explosives!”

Pippin almost tripped over his own feet. “What?”  
  
“He gave me a letter to send and I read it and it was an order for explosives from some place in Knockturn Alley,” Merry continued, in a half-whisper only audible to Pippin and Faramir.   
  
“Why were you sending letters for Gandalf?” Faramir asked.   
  
“Does it matter? The man is going to build a bomb! Why aren’t you freaking out?”   
  
Faramir and Pippin exchanged glances, then Pippin said, “Well, no offense, but you have a tendency of jumping to conclusions and overreacting to stuff.”   
  
Merry raised an eyebrow. “Strong words from the guy who stormed out of his first Charms lecture and had to be stopped from breaking his wand in pieces, saying that he must be a squib because he didn’t manage a levitating spell on the first try.”   
  
“For the record, I have now grown up and learnt to face adversities with level-headed maturity.”   
  
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Faramir snorted.   
  
“If we could get back to the guy building a _bomb_ in a _school_ ?” Merry prompted.   
  
Faramir sighed. “Do you still have the letter? I’m sure there’s a perfectly harmless explanation.”   
  
Merry digged around for the letter in his bag and handed it to him. Faramir looked sceptical as he started reading the letter, but the further down the list he got the higher his eyebrows climbed. He turned back to Merry.   
  
“Right, so… These are actually explosives? Or at least ingredients for making explosives.”   
  
“No need to sound so surprised, if there’s one thing I know it’s explosions,” Merry huffed and snatched the letter from Faramir and gave it to Pippin who was making grabby hands at it.   
  
“What the hell does he need that much explosives for?” Faramir asked.   
  
“I told you: a bomb. He’s finally so fed up with all the students messing up the castle that he’s going to blow us all up once and for all.”   
  
“So the solution for a messy castle is blowing it up, thus creating a bigger mess? No, there must be a reasonable explanation. Maybe there’s… Uh… A blockage in a toilet or something and he’s going to use a small detonation to get it out of there.”   
  
“No, that wouldn’t work,” Pippin said, shaking his head. “The school toilets are very fragile. Not shock-absorbent at all.”   
  
Faramir closed his eyes. “I hate that I don’t even have to question how you could possibly know that.”   
  
Pippin ignored him. “Relax, maybe he’s not targeting the whole school, just a teacher or something.”   
  
“Oh thank you, assassination is so much more comforting, Pip,” Faramir said.   
  
“Could you bait mouse traps with explosives? The dungeons are overrun with rats, maybe Gandalf is so fed up with them that he’s resorting to drastic measures,” Merry suggested.   
  
“I mean, theoretically, I guess you could, but I would think the holes in the floor would be more annoying than the rats,” Pippin contributed.   
  
“Whatever it is, we’ll have to wait until after Potions to discuss it. We need to hurry if we’re going to make it,” Faramir said, and the conversation was over.

 

* * *

 

Pippin loved Potions. You basically got to cook for a grade, though the results were mostly inadvisable to taste unless you wished to find yourself with a tongue five times its normal size. The fact that Potions was taught by Uncle Bilbo was just a bonus. Of course, he wasn't Pippin's real uncle, more like his first cousin, twice removed on the Took side, and his second cousin, once removed on the Baggins side, but it was easier to just call him uncle. When you came from an old family such as the Tooks or the Bagginses the exact labels of relatives quickly mashed together and you just rolled with it. Merry's family, while not related to the Tooks or Bagginses by blood (though there were some vague relations by marriage), was also a very old family and moved in the same social circles, so Bilbo was practically Uncle Bilbo to Merry as well.

Bilbo had retired from a life of exploration of magical plants and creatures all over the world a few years ago, and settled in as the Potions Master of Hogwarts, because, as he said, travelling and adventure is all well and good, but nothing quite beat the satisfaction of a well-brewed potion puttering over the fire.

Pippin was very happy to have him there, because, as loath as he was to admit it, he got rather homesick occasionally, and having both Merry and Uncle Bilbo there was like having a little piece of home with him at school. Besides, Uncle Bilbo was a good teacher. He always had some funny anecdote to tell from his travels, and he never discouraged you if you got a potion wrong.

Bilbo was already in the classroom when they entered it with seconds to spare. Bilbo raised his eyebrow at them as they found their regular seats just before the clock struck eleven.  
  
“Now that we’re all here,” Bilbo said, turning to the class, “We can begin. This year we will step it up a notch, so to speak, for you will all be taking your OWLs at the end of the year. Therefore, the first Potion we will be working with is one that nearly always comes up in the examination; the Draught of Peace, a notoriously tricky elixir used to calm anxiety and soothe nerves. This brew will require you to pay close attention to your ingredients and your stirring. Stray but a little, and the reaction may be disastrous. The instructions are on the board, and in your books. For this first lecture, I want you to attempt it together in your usual groups of four, using the big cauldron. Next session we will analyse what went well and what went wrong, and then you will be allowed to brew it individually in your own cauldrons. Call for me if you have any questions, and as always, do not hesitate to ask.”   
  
Bilbo started walking around the classroom as the students gathered their ingredients from the cupboard, giving helpful remarks about how to pulverise the moonstone properly and just how “vigorously” one should “shake the powdered porcupine quills” before adding them to the potion.   
  
When he got around to the cauldron of Pippin and company, Pippin greeted him with a smile.   
  
“Hi Uncle Bilbo! Mum sends her love.”   
  
“It’s Professor Baggins when we’re at Hogwarts, Mr Took,” Bilbo replied with a wink. “Now, how are you doing with your potion?”   
  
“We’re just about to add…” Faramir said, peering at the instructions in his book, “The second batch of powdered moonstone.”

“Good. Remember, add the stone until the potion turns purple, not pink, and then stir _counter-clockwise_.” Bilbo started moving towards the next group of students, but then turned back to them and added, “It’s good to see you again lads.”

When Bilbo had left them, Faramir looked around the room, then asked, “Hey, where's Éowyn?”

Pippin shrugged, and when Merry didn't offer an answer Pippin poked him on the nose.

“Did you see Éowyn during your free period?” he asked.

“What? No. Haven't seen her since breakfast.”

Faramir frowned, but turned back to the cauldron and started adding more moonstone to the blue potion, causing it to slowly turn purple.  
  
Seven minutes later Faramir handed Merry a vial of syrup of hellebore. “It’s your turn to add something,” he said.   
  
“Hm? Right.” Merry took the vial and dumped the contents in the cauldron.   
  
“Woah!” Pippin yelped and sprang forward to take the vial away from him. “Not all of it! Where’s your head today?”   
  
Faramir peeked into the cauldron and asked Pippin, “Does that look more blue than turquoise to you?”   
  
“Definitely. Maybe we can save it if we let it simmer a little longer.”   
  
“Sorry guys. I was thinking about the thing,” Merry mumbled, still deep in thought.   
  
“Well, stop it. We don’t need to ruin our first potion of the year just because you can’t stop thinking about some imaginary plot to overthrow the Ministry or something.”   
  
“The school, not the Ministry,” Merry muttered.   
  
“Right, whatever. Just keep your mind on the mission next time, alright?”   
  
Pippin shook his head and settled down to keep a close eye on the exact nuance of colour of the potion. He was not about to let this fail. When the brew looked as purple as it was likely to get he shook the jar of powdered porcupine quills _almost_ as hard as he could and added the powder in tiny incremental doses until the draught turned reddish. At once Faramir started stirring it gently.   
  
There was suddenly a cough from the group behind them, and when Pippin turned around he could see dark grey smoke welling out of their cauldron. Bilbo was there in the blink of an eye, immediately vanishing the contents of the billowing kettle to clear the smoke.

“I'm so sorry!” one of their classmates gasped, staring at the now empty cauldron.

“That's perfectly alright, my boy,” Bilbo comforted the horrified student. “This is a highly unstable concoction, this was bound to happen to someone. I presume you accidentally skipped the syrup of hellebore?”

“Yeah, I must have.”

“No problem, there is plenty of time to start over, but this time keep an eye on that syrup and you should be fine.”

Bilbo smiled and moved away just as the door to the classroom opened and Éowyn tried to sneak in unnoticed.

“And where have you been Miss King?” Bilbo asked, and Éowyn stopped dead in her tracks.

“Uh, I-”

“Oh, don't bother. It's rather obvious that you have been flying and simply forgot the time.”

Éowyn was indeed still wearing her quidditch robes, and her hair was dishevelled from the wind.

“I'm sorry, Professor Baggins. It won't happen again. Please don't give me detention, the first team practice is tonight and as the captain I can't miss it.”

“I won't give you detention, Miss King. Not this time. Just don't let it happen again. I understand that quidditch is important to you, but so should your education be. Now sit down and ask your friends what they have done to the potion so far.”

“Yes sir,” Éowyn mumbled and sat down next to a still stirring Faramir.

“So we’ve added the moonstone, syrup of hellebore, and the porcupine quills,” Pippin said, “But seeing as your eyes just glazed over I can tell you don’t really care. So, how was your solo quidditch practice?”  
  
“Well, as always, none of your business you sly Hufflepuff spy,” she answered nonchalantly.   
  
“You know, for someone who keeps claiming they don’t ‘fraternise with the enemy’, you sure do have actual fraternal bonds with the captain of the Gryffindor team.”   
  
“Don’t drag my brother into this. It’s not Éomer’s fault he’s a Gryffindor. Besides, we have a strict policy of no quidditch talk between us.”   
  
Pippin just snorted and turned back to the cauldron to add another batch of quills to the mixture. Faramir was stirring with great concentration. The potion was not quite the orange that it should be, but it seemed to still be salvageable.   
  
“Hey, wait a minute!” Merry suddenly said, causing Pippin to almost drop the whole jar of quills into the simmering cauldron.   
  
“What?”   
  
“Bilbo has known Gandalf for ages, yeah? Maybe he knows what’s up with the explosives.”   
  
“Merry, you can’t just shout ‘Wait!’ when I’m adding ingredients. For a second I thought I had picked up the dried slugs by mistake.”   
  
“Whatever, I’m going to go and ask him. You can manage without me for a few minutes, right?”   
  
“No how could we possibly manage without you here adding five times the ingredients needed,” Pippin muttered at Merry’s back as he made his way towards Bilbo. He sighed and added the last of the powdered quills.

  
A minute later he heard Bilbo laugh heartily, and then Merry came back to his seat, looking more confused than ever.   
  
“Well, what did he say?” Faramir asked.   
  
“Well, I asked him why Gandalf would order a ton of explosives, and he just laughed and said, ‘It’s a surprise’, so I really don’t know.”   
  
“What are you talking about?” Éowyn asked.   
  
Pippin rolled his eyes and picked up a pouch of powdered unicorn horn. “Merry intercepted a letter from Gandalf ordering some kind of explosives, and he’s formed a whole conspiracy theory about why he would do that.”   
  
“Merlin’s beard!” Merry exclaimed and stood up again. “What if Uncle Bilbo is in on it?”   
  
“Hold your hippogriffs, Merry,” Pippin said, throwing his hands up in resignation. “You’ve known old Bilbo all your life! You can’t possibly think that he would be involved in a conspiracy to-”   
  
“Uh, Pip?” Éowyn interrupted. “Weren’t you holding something in your hand just now?”   
  
“Yes, powdered unicorn horn. Oh, where did it go?”   
  
Pippin looked around the area close to the cauldron. He must have dropped it while gesticulating. Where could it-   
  
Merry met his eyes with a wide-eyed expression, and Pippin paled. He slowly turned, and peeked cautiously into the cauldron, which was now violently bubbling.   
  
“Run!” he shouted and dragged Merry with him as he dove for the far end of the classroom. Éowyn grabbed Faramir’s arm and followed them. The cauldron stilled. Then-   
  
_BANG!_ ****  
  
Only Merry’s hasty shield charm protected them from being covered with boiling hot potion as the cauldron exploded and spewed its contents everywhere in a five-yard radius.   
  
The other students had luckily been warned in time to get far enough away from their cauldron not to be hit by the explosion, but the seats and books of the guilty party were covered in goo.   
  
“Peregrin Took!” Bilbo barked and marched over to the still smouldering cauldron. “You better have a good explanation for this. I know you think pranks are the height of humour, but I will not stand for it in my classroom. Someone could have gotten hurt!”   
  
Pippin got to his feet, a little shakily, and hung his head. “I’m so sorry Unc- Professor. I really didn’t mean to, I just dropped the whole pouch in there by mistake, I swear!”   
  
Bilbo fixed Pippin with a serious stare and considered his defense. Pippin tried to look as honest as physically possible. For once he wasn’t even lying.   
  
After a few moments Bilbo relented. “Alright, I believe you. Make sure it never happens again. While the rest of the class finishes up their potions, you four will tidy up the mess you’ve made, and if you’re not done by lunchtime you’ll have to stay behind until it’s spotless.”   
  
“But I didn’t do anything!” Éowyn complained, no doubt she had planned to rush off to the quidditch pitch as soon as lunch started.   
  
“All four of you. If you just put your minds to it I’m sure you can figure out how clean this up in no time.”   
  
Éowyn sighed dramatically and pulled out her wand. Pippin looked around them. Their seats were completely covered in sticky potion, as was most of the floor, and their bags.   
  
“What spell was it Frodo used on us the other day?” he asked Merry. “ _Ter_ \- something?”   
  
“ _Tergeo_ , but I couldn’t make it work properly before,” Merry answered. The explosion seemed to have shaken him out of his of his single-minded contemplation of Gandalf’s sinister plans.   
  
“Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to practise now,” Faramir said, flawlessly using the spell on his bag.   
  
“I didn’t know you already mastered it,” Pippin said.   
  
“I didn’t, it’s my first time. It’s just not that hard,” Faramir shrugged and continued cleaning.   
  
Merry shook his head. “One day I will figure out how that boy is such a natural.”


	3. A Tall Dark Mysterious Strider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Chapters 1-5 are now slightly edited to remove grammar mistakes I missed the first time around and improve the overall flow of the text.

In the end, they finished cleaning the Potions classroom only ten minutes after the rest of the class was allowed to leave. Still, ten minutes was ten minutes. Much could be eaten in that time, Merry mused as their party left for the Great Hall. At least he had begun to master the damn cleaning spell after half an hour of cleaning the floor. As it was, they made the best of their time at the stuffed tables - though Éowyn spent more time grumbling about wasted practice time than eating - before they had to leave for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

When they arrived at the third floor they found their way to the classroom blocked by the vast swamp they had planted the night before, resulting in gleeful high fives between Merry and Pippin and eye rolls from Éowyn and Faramir.

“Did you even think about how we're supposed to get across?” Faramir asked as the hallway slowly filled with their confused classmates.  
  
“Actually, I _did_ .” Merry answered.   
  
He removed the bag slung across his shoulder, made sure it was properly shut, and that he had remembered to put the new Defence book into it, then he put it on the floor.   
  
“Watch and learn, amateurs,” he said, and drew his wand. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ .”   
  
His bag began to hover above the ground, allowing Merry to sit down on the floating platform formed by the books in the bag.   
  
“And now, dear audience, with a great deal of balance, and just a little distribution of weight,” Merry leaned forward and the bag started floating in that direction, “I can move about without my feet even touching the ground!”   
  
Éowyn cheered, and two or three students actually applauded, as Merry swooped out over the swamp, feet dangling precariously over the smelly sludge.   
  
“I got the idea when I saw how ridiculously big our Defence books are this year. Perfect size to sit on! Me and Pippin practised it for weeks at home, thank Merlin they changed the law for underage magic, eh?”   
  
Faramir shook his head with a hint of a grin, “I’m not sure coming up with stuff like this was what they had in mind when they decided to allow students to use magic outside of Hogwarts,” he admonished, but started buttoning up his own bag to imitate the trick.   
  
Pippin had already followed Merry out across the swamp in the direction of the door to the Defence classroom, and they raced each other, making their hoverbags go faster by leaning further and further forward. The they reached the door before they had time to get too competitive and inevitably lean far enough to fall face first in the swamp.   
  
Faramir was the first of their classmates to reach them at the door, though only because Éowyn was too busy flying around the whole corridor in ecstasy to care for the imminent lesson. There was no part of the floor that wasn’t covered in muck though, so they had to combine their efforts to drag the door open while still remaining on their bags.   
  
“Where was I when you were doing this?” Faramir laughed when they finally landed inside the classroom.   
  
“In Berlin with your family, I think. We had to do something to keep us occupied when you decided to spend weeks of summer vacation abroad,” Pippin answered.   
  
Faramir grimaced. “Don’t remind me. I’d rather have stayed with you guys than hang out with my dad for three weeks.”   
  
“I don’t blame you.”   
  
More classmates were coming in through the open door now, most of them jumping off their bags with smiles on their faces. A couple of them, however, had obviously had issues with their balance, because their feet, legs, and in one case their whole body, were covered with mud. For some reason those students weren’t smiling as much. Feeling just a _little_ bad about being the indirect cause of their unhappiness, Merry and Pippin started putting their new-found skills with the cleaning spell to use. Faramir rolled his eyes and sat down in his regular seat at a desk near the front of the classroom, waiting for Professor Elessar to show up. After a little while everyone, even Éowyn, had arrived and taken their places. The first lesson with a new teacher was all about inspecting the terrain and testing limits, so no one wanted to (or dared) be late.

They didn't have to wait long before there was a sudden voice at the front of the room saying, “Well done, you all passed the first exam.”

Everyone turned to look for the source of the voice, only to find that a man, who most certainly wasn't there before, was leaning against the teacher's desk. He was tall and well-built, with dark hair that almost reached his broad shoulders. All in all, quite an attractive combination, had his hair not looked as if though it had not been washed for a year. His stubbly beard was poorly groomed, and his clothes were in a similar state of disarray and scruffiness, boots caked with mud and his dark green cloak in dire need of repair.

“The ability to think on your feet and using whatever is at hand to your advantage is a vital element in many areas we will be covering in this course. I observed you in the corridor, and I am pleased to see that you all, or most of you, found ways to make it across the swamp without getting - I'm sure you've heard by now - as muddy as I was this morning.”

So this must be Professor Elessar, Merry thought. Indeed, his hair did look like it belonged to someone who had taken a bath in a swamp that day. One would have thought he would have taken the time to wash up properly before his lessons. By the looks of it, he had just had a change of clothes and shoved his head into a bucket of water to get the worst of the mud out.

“I myself, not carrying a bag, chose to use a freezing spell to make the mud solid enough to walk on,” the man continued, “Now that I was aware of the existence of the swamp, that is.”

Several students giggled as the professor gave his own muddy boots a meaning look.

“I would apologise for having to wear my travelling clothes, but my only other option is currently more mud than clothes, and we have more important things to talk about than my sense of fashion. This year, you will face your O.W.Ls, and as you already know it's a trying exam, not least in my subject. During this year I will strive to teach you to defend yourselves against an aggressor, as well as launch an attack yourselves, within legal limits of course. You will also learn how to break curses, how to deal with dark creatures, and improve your reflexes and ability to improvise. Questions?”

A Hufflepuff girl raised her hand. “Yes, Professor Elessar, I-"

“Please call me Aragorn. Or just Professor.”  
  
“Right, Professor. I was just wondering how you were able to watch us and get in here without us noticing? I didn’t see you in the corridor, and it’s literally just swamp, there’s nowhere to hide.”   
  
Aragorn nodded. “Good question. There are many tricks to escape notice at will, and it is one of the things I will be teaching you this year. But all in good time. For this first lesson we-”

He paused, seemingly distracted by something in the back of the room. Then he continued talking while slowly walking around the class, forcing the students to turn in their seats to keep him in sight.  
  
“This first lesson, we will go through the basics of a very tricky charm, then after a couple of weeks, we will get to the different methods for remaining unseen.”   
  
He stopped at the back corner of the room and turned to the class.   
  
“I can avoid being seen if I wish, but true invisibility… that is a rare gift.”   
  
He quickly stretched his arm out into the air, seemingly grasping at nothing, then with a swift movement he drew his arm back, only to reveal-   
  
A first-year student was standing in the corner, covered to his knees with mud and cowering before Aragorn who loomed over him with some sort of silvery cloak in his hand.   
  
“James Sirius Potter,” he said. “As much as I appreciate you demonstrating the use of invisibility cloaks to my class, I’m sure you have something else on your schedule.”   
  
“No sir, I’m on my break,” the boy lied.   
  
“I don’t believe that for a second, I happen to know the first-year Gryffindors have History with the Ravenclaws right now. I realise you may think that Defence Against the Dark Arts is a much more interesting subject, but I assure you that History is not without merits. Now off you go, and pray Professor Binns doesn’t notice you’re late. Shouldn’t bee too hard with that handy cloak of yours,” Aragorn said, not unkindly, and handed the invisibility cloak back to the boy.   
  
The young Potter hung his head dejectedly and left the classroom with his tail between his legs.

Aragorn returned to his desk, leaning on it once again. “That, my friends, was an invisibility cloak. It’s the most efficient method of achieving total invisibility known to date. Unfortunately they are very difficult to manufacture, requiring incredibly strong enchantments, and most of them will gradually lose their effectiveness over time. Only a handful exist which seemingly never wear out, but the secret to their durability is long lost. Now, who can tell me how one may discover someone hiding underneath such a cloak? Yes, you.”  
  
A Ravenclaw boy answered the question. “Sound. Unless they have cast a silencing charm, you could hear them walking or breathing if you’re close enough.”   
  
“Very good, five points to Ravenclaw. The silencing charm is something I believe you will be working on with Professor Glóinsson later this year. Any other ways to spot someone using a cloak?”   
  
A Hufflepuff enby raised their hand. “They can leave footprints if the ground is soft or they’re wet or dirty. Like you did with the mud on the Potter boy.”   
  
“Ah, well spotted. Five points to Hufflepuff. Yes, thanks to the swamp I could see exactly where young Mr Potter were standing judging by his muddy footprints. Some cloaks also cause a slight shimmer in the air, and sometimes a weak shadow can be seen on the ground. But we will come back to this topic in a few weeks time. Today I am going to introduce you to a very tricky thing called the Patronus charm.”   
  
There were scattered intakes of breath round the class. They had heard of this spell before, but never been allowed to try it out. Merry leaned forward in his desk in anticipation. He had wanted to learn this spell for years.   
  
“As many of you may already know, a Patronus is a very powerful defensive charm, used against such creatures as Dementors and Lethifolds. Its appearance is most often that of a silvery mist forming a shield between you and the attacker, but if cast by a powerful enough Wix it will take the form of an animal attacking your enemy. Each Patronus takes the form of an animal that represents the caster’s very soul.”   
  
Everyone started talking to their neighbours, guessing what their Patronus might be.   
  
“I bet I’m something majestic,” Merry said, “Like a lion, or an eagle.”   
  
Éowyn snorted and Pippin laughed out loud.   
  
“Now, students,” Aragorn continued, “Remember that this charm is not something I expect you to master in a couple of weeks, or even a year. It’s a spell that many Wixen never master, and many academics believe that it’s therefore something that is pointless to teach in schools. I do not agree. I believe that, despite it being one of the most complicated spells in existence, young students may show greater aptitude at performing it that those who do not try it out until they are older. However, there is no shame in failing. Who can tell me what the incantation is?”   
  
“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Faramir answered, because of course he had already memorised the incantation for a spell he hadn’t even been taught yet. What a nerd, Merry thought fondly.

“Correct,” Aragorn said and awarded Hufflepuff another five points. “But of course, as with most spells, just saying the words won’t do you much good. The secret to a powerful Patronus is conjuring the memory of the happiest moment of your life. This is not too easy in itself, but then you also have to be able to channel it through your body and your wand to form a magical barrier.”  
  
Aragorn walked up to the blackboard and wrote down the incantation. “I want you to take a few minutes to memorise the words, and also to think of what your happiest memory might be.”

While Merry and the other students ransacked their brains for happy moments, Aragorn had them leave their desks so he could push them against the wall with a flick of his wand to create an empty space in the middle of the room.

Happy memories… The happiest. What the hell was Merry's happiest memory? He had so many! Usually he wouldn't consider that a bad thing, but in this case it just made it hard to choose one. His first day at Hogwarts? The birthday he got his first racing broom? The first quidditch match he helped Ravenclaw win? They all seemed so trivial when he had to think about whether they actually were the best moments of his life.

Pippin nudged him with his elbow. “Do you reckon the day we both got our acceptance letters to Hogwarts is good enough?”

Merry remembered that day like it was yesterday, just a little over four years ago. Pippin's family had been visiting Merry's, and one morning a tawny owl flew in through the kitchen window, delivering two letters. There hadn't really been much doubt that the boys were magical enough to be granted a place at Hogwarts, they had been causing trouble with their accidental outbursts of magic since before they could talk. Nevertheless, there was just something about actually holding the letter in his hands that made it undeniably _official_.

Merry smiled at Pippin as Aragorn gave them leave to start practising, and said, “I guess there's only one way to find out.”

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” dozens of voices cried out at roughly the same time.

Nothing happened, at least not for Merry. Disheartened he looked around the class, but it seemed as if though no one else was succeeding either. He kept reciting the incantation, trying his hardest to focus on the memory he had chosen, but still no luck.

At his side, Pippin was shaking his wand in frustration. “Oh come on,” he said, “I really thought that memory was neat.”

“I don't think neat will cut it, Pip,” Merry answered.

Pippin groaned, and then looked at Faramir. “Hey, why aren't you practising the spell?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Faramir mumbled, “I was watching you do it, I didn't want to miss it if you got it right.”

“Yeah, fat chance. It doesn't seem like that's going to happen any time soon,” Pippin grumbled, glaring at his wand as if it was its fault.

“Come on, Faramir,” Merry said. “Give it a shot. Nothing's going to happen if you don't try.”

Faramir bowed his head and took a deep breath, then raised his wand and closed his eyes. “ _Expecto Patronum_.”

At once a stream of silvery mist leapt out of his wand and whirled in the air, slowly taking an indistinct shape. It was something four-legged, jumping around playfully in the air. As the mist grew more concentrated, Merry could see that the animal had a big bushy tail and a pointed nose and ears…

“Holy shit, Faramir! It's a fox!” Merry exclaimed. “You did it!”

Faramir blushed as all the students diverted their attention to him. His patronus dissolved mid-leap in the air in solidarity of his embarrassment.

“How did you do that?” Pippin gasped. “And on your first try!”

“Actually I practised at home during the summer,” Faramir confessed. “When I read about the spell in this year's course book I just had to try it, and after a couple of days I got it right. I just didn't want to come here and seem like I was bragging or anything.”

“But it is something worth bragging about,” the professor's voice said behind them. “That was admirably done, Mr Steward. A nearly fully corporeal patronus warrants a reward. Twenty points for Hufflepuff.”

Faramir was blushing more than should be physically possible.

“I hope you all follow Mr Steward’s example,” Aragorn continued, smiling for the first time since they had met him, “Though I want you to remember that his accomplishment is unusual and not easily imitated. I will not be disappointed if you fail to produce even the slightest hint of mist, this is not a spell you will be tested on in any exam, though a successful demonstration is guaranteed to give you bonus points. That being said, I do believe many of you are capable of it, and I look forward to seeing you develop over the year.”

 

* * *

 

“Faramir, you are truly the mightiest among wizards, the ace enchanter, a genius among plebeians, and, what I am trying to say is, _what's your bloody secret_?” Pippin said as they landed after their cross-swamp flight. Only one other person, a Ravenclaw girl, had been able to get results during the lesson, and then only a weak mist at the tip of her wand that dissipated almost instantly.

Faramir shook his head and heaved his bag onto his shoulder. “It was one spell, it hardly makes me Merlin.”

“An incredibly difficult spell,” Éowyn, who had remained seated on her flying bag, said. “It was really impressive, you shouldn't put yourself down like that.”

Faramir’s blush returned with a vengeance.

“Anyway, see you tomorrow,” she continued. “Merry, I want you on the quidditch pitch in thirty minutes. No excuses.” And with that she swooped away on her flying bag.

Merry sighed and turned to his friends. “Sorry, I need to go get changed if I'm going to make it in time for her not bashing my head in with a bludger. See you later, Pip, and you too, Fox.”

“Fox?” Faramir asked and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Look,” Pippin said, “You nixed Farry, Mirry, Fam, and Fafa. Fox is not that bad a nickname.”

“Why do I need one? Éowyn doesn't have one.”

“Yes she does,” Merry lied.

“Really, what is it?”

“...Dern… helm…” Merry deadpanned.

“Never in my life have I heard you call her Dernhelm.”

“Because… It's her middle name, and she told me about it in confidence, so I don't use it in public. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Yeah. Anyway, oops, must be off, see you Foxy!”

“Don't call me Foxy!” Faramir shouted after Merry as he jumped onto his bag again and set off for the Ravenclaw tower at breakneck speed.


	4. A Conversation in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gandalf-resistance gains a powerful ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Chapters 1-5 are now slightly edited to remove grammar mistakes I missed the first time around and improve the overall flow of the text.

Training with Éowyn was out of this world, Merry reflected as he entered his dormitory just before the curfew started. She had been made captain at the tender age of 14 since the previous captain left Hogwarts in the middle of his seventh year to play quidditch professionally, and ever since then training had been incredibly fast-paced and intense. Too be fair, it was exhilarating, but also thoroughly exhausting.

Merry had to force himself to go take a shower instead of just faceplanting onto his bed, telling himself it would be worth it when he didn’t wake up covered in dried sweat, but when he came out of the shower he didn’t feel the least bit tired. He had been ready to fall asleep on his feet before, but the shower had invigorated him to the point that trying to fall asleep felt like a chore. He wondered what Pippin was doing. His friend didn't have quidditch practice until the weekend, so he might be up for some late night shenanigans. Yeah, sneaking over to the Hufflepuff common room seemed more like the thing to do by the second. Not that Merry actually had any shenanigans in mind, at least not for this specific night. The swamp prank would be enough to satisfy him for days, but there was always some thrill to be had simply by sneaking around the castle in the night, even without a mischievous plan.

Merry pulled on his pyjamas and shrugged into a dressing gown. After getting his slippers he grabbed his wand and shoved it into the inner breast pocket of his robe, then he set off for the basement.

Walking through the corridors at night was a freeing experience. After the bustle of thousands of students during the day, the silence of the night would have been deafening if it hasn't been for the soft murmur of the portraits and the occasional squeak of a suit of armour moving to scratch its nose. It was a blessing that the portraits never took it upon themselves to report any students out of bed. The only instance Merry had heard of a portrait tattling was when a muggleborn student had forgotten that the portraits were alive and had made a hurtful comment about a monk's hair. The monk had started reporting to the Headmistress every time the student cussed, and had followed him around for weeks criticising everything from his shoes to his grades. Funny how vain art could be.

Merry took the stairs down to the basement with a spring in his step, but as he reached the bottom of the staircase he stopped abruptly. He could hear determined footsteps and a faint grumbling voice, which could only mean Gandalf, and he would most _certainly_ tattle if he found Merry out after bedtime. The caretaker was coming towards the stairs, so there was nothing for Merry to do but to jump into the closest broom cupboard and pray that that was not where Gandalf was heading. The only problem was that said broom cupboard was already occupied. There was an indignant squeak in the darkness, and Merry almost screamed out loud when he stepped on something soft.

“That's my foot!” a voice hissed, and Merry stilled.

“Pip?”

“Merry? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, what are _you_ doing here?”

“Hiding from Gandalf on my way to you, of course!”

“Shh, lower your voice, he's almost here!” Merry hissed and reached out for Pippin, fumbling to put a hand over his mouth.

Pippin seemed to understand the severity of the situation, because he stilled and didn't even lick Merry's palm to make him remove his hand. Seconds passed as they listened intently for the sound of footsteps approaching. Pippin's warm breath ghosted over Merry's hand as they waited, muscles tense in apprehension as the footsteps reached the cupboard and- stopped. Merry could practically feel Pippin giving him an anxious glance through the darkness, and did actually feel his lips mouthing an expletive against his palm. Suddenly self-conscious he removed his hand from Pippin's mouth.  
  
Gandalf didn't seem to want anything from the cupboard, but by the sound of it he didn't seem intent to move away from it either. They didn't have to wait long before they heard another set of footsteps and a voice greeting the caretaker.

“Bilbo, my friend,” Gandalf answered, the sound muffled through the door. “I thought you would already be here.”

“I was, but you took so long to get here that I needed to go to the bathroom. You're late.”

“A caretaker is never late, Bilbo Baggins, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”

“Very poetic, but I'll call it what it is: tardiness. So what was it you wanted to speak about?”

“Well, you see, I am planning a surprise of an… explosive nature, if you understand what I mean.”

“Ah yes, I thought you might. Young mister Brandybuck seems to have caught onto your secret, he questioned me about it earlier today.”

Gandalf grumbled something about nosy letter thieves, then said, “I need some items from your potions supplies to get the effect I need, will you help me?”

“But of course! You know how your little tricks always cheer me up.”

The old men started walking away from the cupboard and Merry and Pippin breathed out in relief. A couple of minutes passed before they dared sneak out of the cupboard and back to the Hufflepuff common room before they stumbled upon anyone else.

“Well do you believe me _now_?” Merry said as soon as they found an unoccupied sofa in a remote corner.

“I don't know what to think,” Pippin said. “I mean, surely Uncle Bilbo wouldn't be in on whatever Gandalf is planning?”

“So you do think he is planning something!”

“Well, obviously. The question is what.”

 

* * *

 

The following weeks Merry and Pippin spent, in the words of Faramir, “an unreasonable amount of time basically stalking the caretaker.” Faramir was still not convinced enough to accept the conspiracy when told what they had heard that night, and he made it very clear that he did not condone their spying. Nevertheless, Merry spent his free Wednesday mornings studying - or rather lurking - in places Gandalf was likely to walk by, following him if there were enough people around to avoid suspicion. Pippin took over during his long lunch, though he spent at least an hour in the Great Hall anyway, under the pretext that Gandalf was bound to show up for lunch at some point. On Friday mornings before Care of Magical Creatures they lurked together. Faramir only came along sometimes due to his prefect duties (and the fact that he thought they were being ridiculous), and he usually spent more time rolling his eyes and reading than keeping a lookout.

For all their watchfulness, they never caught Gandalf doing anything more suspicious than grumbling about inconsiderate students while cleaning the floors. As September turned into October, the pace of schoolwork increased and the November quidditch matches lurked behind the corner. As a result their stalking sessions turned into actual study sessions, or quidditch practice, and Gandalf’s schemes were all but forgotten.

Their forgetfulness did not last long though. One evening when Pippin walked home from his quidditch practice he stumbled upon the transfiguration professor skulking outside a storage room in the basement. Even though Professor White was somewhat intimidating, Pippin was never one to miss out on some quality skulking, so he tip-toed his way over and tried to join in. He peeked through the slightly ajar door.

“What are we looking for?” he whispered, and the professor jumped in surprise.

“By Merlin's beard, boy!” he hissed. “You mustn't sneak up on folk like that!”

“Sorry Professor, but what are we-” Pippin caught a glimpse of a grey beard through the door and stopped. “Gandalf. What is he up to this time?” he muttered to himself, then squeaked in surprise when he was grabbed by the arm and hauled off to a hidden alcove, seconds before Gandalf exited the storage room with several jars in his arms. They were silent as he wandered away through the corridor, and then-

“What did you mean ‘what is he up to this time’? What has he done before?”

Pippin stared at the professor, debating the merits of revealing his and Merry's secret suspicions to a teacher. Perhaps he would be scolded for spreading nasty rumours. But… Here was a member of staff, spying on another. Surely that must mean that he was as suspicious of Gandalf as they were? A teacher ally might be just what they needed if they were to stop whatever nefarious plan Gandalf was concocting.

“Well, sir,” Pippin said after a moment's hesitation. “I just think the caretaker has some sort of secret. You see, my friend happened to read a letter from Gandalf, ordering a _lot_ of explosives.”

Saruman smiled thinly. “Please, do continue.”

 

* * *

 

“And then he told me that he has been having suspicions about Gandalf for ages now, and he saw him load up on all sorts of chemicals the night before last! He said that if we tell him anything we see, then maybe he can help put an end to Gandalf's plans.”

Merry narrowed his eyes. It sounded almost too good to be true that Pippin would just stumble onto a potential ally in the middle of spying. But, as Pippin was so fond of reminding him of, Merry had a tendency to look gift horses in the mouth. Still, it couldn't hurt to be cautious. He looked around the hall to see if anyone was listening in on them, but this early it was blissfully empty. He leaned closer to Pippin over the breakfast table, pushing aside his plate of steaming fried mushrooms.

“Are you sure he will help us though?” he asked. “I've always thought he and Gandalf were rather friendly with each other. Besides, Saruman has always given me a weird vibe. How can we be sure he's on our side?”

“You only dislike him because he's the only one who has ever dared to fail you on an essay.”

“That was a great essay and any fair teacher would have given it an Exceeds Expectations, at least. But I guess that his lack of judgement when it comes to grading doesn't necessarily mean that he's a bad judge of character.”

“Wouldn't it be great to have a teacher on our side? Someone who believes us?”

“Yeah that would be useful.” He sat back and drummed his fingers against the table in thought, then he shook his head and said, “Pass the beans, will you?”

“How can you eat at a time like this?” Pippin protested, but handed Merry a pot of baked beans all the same.

“Give it a minute and you'll be scoffing down mushrooms with the best of us.”

“But should we do it? I mean, stalking is one thing and spying another, but it's for a good cause, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Merry shrugged.

Pippin frowned. “What's wrong? I thought you would be more excited. After all, you were the one who started all this.”

“Sorry, I stayed up late working on the Magical Creatures essay. Professor Greenleaf gives a hell of a lot of assignments for a hippie.”

“Legolas isn't a hippie,” Pippin protested.

“Pip, his hair reaches his belly button, he frequently puts flowers in it, he goes on and on about unicorns, and one time I saw him compliment a tree. A _tree_ , Pip. Just because you have a crush on him doesn't change the fact that he walks barefoot all the time. Even in winter.”

“I do _not_ have a crush on Le- professor Greenleaf.”

“In _winter_ , Pip. Anyway, it's not like you're alone, even half the straight guys swoon when he looks at them.”

Pippin huffed and looked away. “He's still not a hippie. Maybe he's always barefoot because he's a veela.”

Merry shook his head. “Professor van Imladris is half veela, and he wears shoes all the time.”

“You don’t know that, his robes are always floor-length. Besides, Headmistress Galadriel is like the queen of the barefoot, even at feasts, does that make her a hippie?”  
  
“Pip, Galadriel is the hippiest half veela to ever step a bare foot in this castle.”  
  
“But-”

“Boys, this is easily in the top five most pointless conversations you have ever had,” Éowyn’s voice said behind Merry.

“Morning,” Merry greeted her as she sat down.

“Hey,” she answered and reached for the pumpkin juice. “For the record, Pippin, Legolas _is_ a hippie, and you _do_ have a crush on him.”

Pippin huffed and crossed his arms indignantly. He was adorable when he frowned like that, enough that Merry felt the need to defend him to Éowyn.

“This coming from the person who is wildly infatuated with the Defence teacher,” he said, despite the risk that she might retaliate later with an extra fifty sit-ups at quidditch practice.

Éowyn’s reaction was instantly gratifying, though. She sputtered and almost choked on her juice.

“Am _not_ ,” she shrieked after regaining her breath. “Why would you say that?”

“Oh, no reason. It's just that I have eyes in my head and they’re connected to my brain,” Merry grinned.  
  
Pippin took the chance to embarrass someone else for a change and started making googly eyes and fluttering his eyelashes. “Ooh, Professor Aragorn, could you show me the hand movement for that spell again please? Ooooooh, you’re so talented, your patronus is really powerful, and so bi-”  
  
“Shut up! I’m not crushing on him, I was just impressed by his patronus. You weren’t really playing it cool either when he sent a giant fucking silver horse galloping through the classroom!”  
  
“Lo!” Merry laughed. “Here cometh Sir Aragorn on his silver steed, to rescue the shieldmaiden in distress-”  
  
“Merlin’s bushy beard, will you shut it?”  
  
“-though, of course, the fair maiden doth not need any rescuing! Forsooth, she hath taken four years of sword fighting-” Pippin continued.  
  
“Fencing.”  
  
“-and could probably best a hundred mortal men on her own-” Merry supplied.  
  
“Thank y-”  
  
“-powered by her love for the mysterious knight of the long hair that would be lustrous if he would only take a shower.”  
  
Éowyn gave up and scooched over to where a group of her fellow Ravenclaw girls were debating the pros and cons of age restrictions on Apparition. Her blush was visible even at that distance.  
  
“Too far?” Pippin asked.

Merry shrugged. “The hair part is true. Do you think he's taken a shower since he got here? I swear I could still see mud from the swamp in there just the other day.”

He sighed wistfully, thinking back to the almost full week that the swamp had lasted. He suspected that professor Aragorn had had something to do with it being left alone for so long. In previous years, the swamp had usually been turned back to normal within less than a day, but it wouldn't surprise Merry if Aragorn wanted it left there for a while as a test for all his students. Now it was gone though, and Merry would just have to live on the memories until it was time to honour the tradition again next year. The most memorable incidents this year was of course Aragorn falling into the swamp because he didn't know it was there, and Frodo doing a belly flop in it because he fell of his flying bag when he thought he saw something in the water and leaned over too far.

Speaking of which, the flying bag trick had spread through the school like fiendfyre, leading to a number of collisions and fall-related injuries before the day was over. Consequently, Headmistress Galadriel had banned the practice by the following morning. They never let the students have any fun. Every time someone came up with a cool spell or trick, the staff started complaining and banning it. Unfair.

Pippin must have noticed that he was getting a bit melancholic, because he put down his fork and reached over the table, putting a hand on Merry's own.

“Hey, what's wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing really,” Merry sighed. “Just bored I guess. It’s been over a month since the swamp, and the most exciting thing to happen since then was when Professor Glóinsson interrupted that Magical Creatures lesson just to accuse Professor Greenleaf of hogging the quidditch pitch for your team. The only stuff we’ve been doing outside of lessons lately is studying, flying, and stalking Gandalf, and that got old fast.”  
  
There was a strange gleam in Pippin’s eyes as he said, “You have the morning off until Potions, right?”  
  
“Yeah, what of it?”  
  
“How would you fancy a little trip to the Forbidden Forest?”


	5. Treebeard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the others, but at least it's finally here! I apologise for the delay, university and the winter months have drained me of so much energy, but now the sun is here again, and so I leave you a new chapter full of straight up plagiarism from the Two Towers!
> 
> Edit: Chapters 1-5 are now slightly edited to remove grammar mistakes I missed the first time around and improve the overall flow of the text.

If wandering around the castle after dark was thrilling, then the mere prospect of sneaking into the Forbidden Forest at any time of the day was positively riveting. It had the word  _Forbidden_ right there in the name for crying out loud! Capitalised! Now, they had never before dared make the forest their destination when skipping class, but Pippin had spent the past four years dreaming and planning for this moment. His plan was simple. Leave the castle just a minute after the first lesson was supposed to begin, then jog towards the forest to make it seem like they were just late for Magical Creatures class. Before they reached the teaching area they would dive into the forest and make a run for it, first checking that the old gamekeeper Hagrid was slumbering in the sunshine outside his cot and wasn't pottering about somewhere in the forest.

The plan worked out perfectly. Their half jog really screamed “Oh how perfectly foolish we were to stay so long at breakfast and risk running late to our class,” Hagrid was indeed fast asleep in front of his cot, and no one spotted them once they changed course towards the trees.

As they approached it, the dark edge of the forest loomed up straight before them. Night seemed to have taken refuge under its great trees, ignoring the light of dawn. Pippin shook off his uneasy feeling and followed Merry as he led the way in under the huge branches of the trees. They went with as much speed as the dark and tangled forest allowed for fear of detection if they lingered too long by the outskirts of the forest, but as their fear of Hagrid died away and their pace slackened, a strange stifling feeling came over them, as if the air was simultaneously too thin and too thick for breathing. Of course they had been in the forest before, but they had never gone this deep, and never without the company of Professor Greenleaf. This was completely different.

“It’s very dim and stuffy in here,” Pippin remarked. “Nothing like the Hippogriff Glade or the Thestral Grove.”

“Yeah,” Merry agreed, “Do you get the feeling that the forest is trying to tell us something?”

“Like what?”

“Like, ‘Leave now or I will kick you out myself.’”   
  
“I don’t know about that, but I really really wish I could see the sun again and get some fresh air.”   
  
Just then they became aware of a yellow light appearing some way further on into the wood: shafts of sunlight seemed suddenly to have pierced the forest-roof.

“Oh, a cloud must have passed in front of the sun just when we entered the forest,” Merry said, trying to ease the atmosphere a bit. He pointed in the direction of the sunlit area. “It’s not far, let’s go investigate!”

They found it was further than they had thought, but the light grew brighter as they went on, and soon they saw that there was a rock-wall before them. No trees grew on it, and the sun was falling full on its stony face. Around it, where all had looked so shabby and grey before, the wood now gleamed with rich browns and greens, and with the smooth black-greys of bark like polished leather.   
  
In the face of the stony wall there was something like a natural staircase, and as they climbed it they found a platform where nothing grew but a few grasses and weeds at its edge, and one old tall stump of a tree with only two bent branches left: it looked almost like the figure of some gnarled old man, standing there, blinking in the morning-light. At the top of the hill a cool breeze seemed to clear the air of the stuffiness that permeated the woods below, and they took deep breaths while letting the weak beams of the autumn sun warm their faces.   
  
They stood like that for several minutes, just basking in the refreshing change, then Merry observed, “I think it’s getting cloudy again.”

“Pity. The shaggy old forest looked so different in the sunlight. I almost felt I liked the place.”

“Almost felt you liked the Forest! That's good! That's uncommonly kind of you,” said a strange voice behind them, making them almost jump out of their skin. “Turn round and let me have a look at your faces. I almost feel that I dislike you both, but do not let us be hasty. Turn round!”

Dejected, they prepared to turn, half-expecting to see old Hagrid’s reproachful face, but then a large knob-knuckled hand was laid on each of their shoulders, and they were twisted round, gently but irresistibly; then two great arms lifted them up in the air.

“What the hell?!” Pippin exclaimed. “Let us do-”

He silenced as he was turned around only to stare into a face that could not belong to any human creature. Then he swallowed and looked down. His feet were dangling a good ten feet above the ground, his body seemingly being held up by… branches? Taking a deep breath he collected his thoughts and tried to understand what was going on.

He took a good look at his capturer from the ground and up and tried to comprehend what he saw. Something vaguely akin to feet, but seemingly made out of living wood, held up two trunk-like legs, which in turn supported a great log of a body upon which a peculiarly asymmetric head rested. The branches keeping him and Merry in the air seemed to be hands of sorts, as wooden as the rest of the creature. It was at least fourteen foot high, reminding him somewhat of a troll, but with far more grace of body and wit evident in its eyes. Its… face, for lack of a better word, was partially concealed by a mass of beard-like lichen, above which sat a growth vaguely nose-looking. However, it was its eyes that really caught his attention.

A set of great big hazel eyes seemed to look into their very souls, slow and solemn, yet penetrating. For a moment Pippin forgot his fear, enraptured by the depth of the eyes. It felt as if there was an enormous well behind them, filled up with ages of memory and long, slow, steady thinking, yet there was an exuberance in them: like sunlight shimmering on the outer leaves of a vast tree, or the ripples of a very deep lake.

“Hrum, hoom,” the creature murmured, voice reminiscent of a deep woodwind instrument. “Very odd indeed! Do not be hasty, that is my motto. But if I had seen you, before I heard your voices - I liked them: nice little voices; they reminded me of something I cannot remember - if I had seen you before I heard you, I should have just trodden on you, taking you for little Dwarves, and found out my mistake afterwards. Very odd you are, indeed. Root and twig, very odd!”

Pippin, though still amazed, no longer felt afraid. The eyes of the creature were soothing, while still being somehow unnerving.

“Who are you?” he said. “And… what are you?”

“Hrum, now,” it answered, “well, I am an Ent, or that’s what they call me. Yes, Ent is the word. The Ent, I am, you might say, in your manner of speaking. Fangorn is my name according to some, Treebeard others make it. Treebeard will do.”

“An Ent?” asked Merry. “What’s that? And who calls you these names? And what’s your real name?”

“Hoo now!” replied Treebeard. “How many questions you ask. Now that would be telling! Not so hasty. And I am doing the asking. You are in my country. Who are you, I wonder?”

“We’re students.”   
  
“Hm, students?”

“Yes, from the school,” Pippin piped up.

“Ah, yes, the school,” the Ent hummed. “House-dwellers are you, eh?”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Merry replied. “Anyway, I’m a Brandybuck, I mean- my name is Meriadoc Brandybuck, though most people call me just Merry.”   
  
“And I’m a Took, Peregrin Took, but I’m generally called Pippin, or even Pip.” He held out his hand, forgetting that Treebeard’s hands were occupied by holding them up in the air. The gesture seemed to remind the Ent of that fact, however, and they were carefully lowered to the ground.

“Harum! You are truly strange creatures. Living encased in stone, giving out your true names freely, and shortening already fleeting names.”

Pippin silently thought that Treebeard was the stranger creature present, but that was no way to think in this modern day and age, so he quickly discarded the thought and said, “But surely you must have met humans before? We’re not that deep into the Forbidden Forest.”

“I have known many Men who have strolled into the Forest. The Forbidden Forest you call it, eh? In my days it used to bear a less intimidating name. Fangorn, it was called.”

“But I thought that was one of your names?” Merry asked.

“This wood has been my ward these past countless years, and it is as much a part of me as I am a part of it. We old Ents are tree-herds, you see. Sheep and shepherds go together as the trees and the Ents do. Few of us are left now.  Some of my kin look just like trees now, and need something great to rouse them; and they speak only in whispers. But some of my trees are limb-lithe, and many can talk to me.

“The Veela began it, of course, waking trees up and teaching them to speak and learning their tree-talk. They always wished to talk to everything, the old Veela did. But then they turned their attention more to the realm of Men, ignoring the voices of the trees they woke. The old Veela who rules your stone castle remembers our language though. Sometimes she walks with me here and I help her remember the olden days when there was all one wood once upon a time, from the mountains to the sea-shore.”

“Lady Galadriel,” Merry breathed, awestruck. He always did have a small crush on the Headmistress, for all that he called her a hippie.

“That is her name in your tongue. I shall not tell you my true name, nor hers, not yet at any rate. For one thing it would take a long while: my name is growing all the time, and I have lived a very long, long time; so my name is like a story. Real names tell you the story of the things they belong to in my language, in the Old Entish as you might say. It is a lovely language, but it takes a very long time to say anything in it, because we do not say anything in it, unless it is worth taking a long time to say, and to listen to. The Lady Galadriel speaks it yet, and she is teaching it to the youngling Veela whom she often brings here nowadays.”   
  
“Professor Greenleaf?” Pippin asked. That explained the talking to trees deal, if not the barefoot thing. He knew they weren’t just hippies.   
  
“Hoo hm, yes, the young sapling. It does me good to see a youngling so interested in the woods again. The Veela drifted away from us, you see-”

Merry and Pippin spent at least another hour listening to Treebeard wax on poetically about the Veela and the Ents and the good old days. They did not even notice the irony of skipping History of Magic just to sit in the woods and listen to the same thing, only told through a different perspective. While he spoke he led them deeper into the forest, introducing them to trees (who seemed just as silent and non-sentient as all the rest to Merry and Pippin) and showing them to a clear spring that was simultaneously cool enough for a refreshing drink and mild enough to bathe their feet in.

When they finally said goodbye to the Ent, with a promise to return, and left the forest to get to Potions, they no longer thought the atmosphere stifling, nor did the woods seem as dark and tangled as before.


	6. All Is Fair in Love and Food Fights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short as well, but I wanted to give you all a holiday treat rather than make you wait for a longer chapter!
> 
> Content warning: Brief mention of drugs. A mild panic attack.

“I don't like this,” Faramir said when they were seated in the History of Magic classroom a week after Merry and Pippin’s adventure in the Forbidden Forest. Faramir had been sorely disappointed to miss out on the experience, but it didn’t do for prefects to skip class.

“What do you mean you don't like this?” asked Pippin. “You're the biggest history buff I know. You brought three books that aren’t even on the compulsory-reading list with you today.”

“No, I mean something feels wrong. Professor Binns isn't here yet.”

“So? He's just late. The man has a life of his own after all.”

“A life? Pip, Professor Binns is literally a ghost. Besides, have you _ever_ entered the classroom and he wasn't there? Have you ever even seen him outside of this room?”

Pippin worried his lip. “Alright, you have a point.”

Faramir opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the door opening.

“Morning, class,” a gruff voice said, and everyone turned to look at the person who had spoken.

He was a tallish man with steel-grey hair pulled back in a strict ponytail and cold grey eyes. He had opted to wear a fine-knit jumper, shirt, and trousers instead of the robes most teachers favoured.

“Oh no,” Pippin heard Faramir breathe.

“My name is Professor Denethor Stewart, and I will be filling in for Professor Binns indefinitely.”

“Oooh noo…”

“Faramir, isn't that your dad?” Pippin asked.

“Professor Stewart, what happened to Professor Binns?” someone asked.

“We don't know, he just disappeared. Until he reappears, if ever that happens, I will be teaching History of Magic. Now turn to page 67 in your books and refrain from asking questions until after the lecture.”

Pippin looked at Faramir, who had gone pale. Wide-eyed he turned to Pippin.

“Dad is my new teacher. My life is over,” he whispered with vigour.

 

* * *

 

Merry met up with Pippin and Faramir on their way to Potions. Looking over his friends’ serious faces he frowned and said, “What’s up? You're looking more glum than usual, Fox.”

Faramir groaned.

“What's the matter with him?”

“His old man is here,” Pippin answered with a grimace.

“Oh no, Mr Stewart? You’re in luck though, we have a double period of both Potions and Defence, so you'll be busy the whole day and can avoid him.”

“No, I can't,” Faramir mumbled, staring at his feet. “He's not here on a visit, he's here to stay. Professor Binns disappeared and he's the substitute teacher.”

“Oh shit.”

“Dad is going to grade my homework. Dad, the man who said ‘You failed two questions’ when I got an ‘Outstanding’ on that big History exam, is going to _grade_ my homework. The man who said ‘Mhm’ when I told him I was chosen to be prefect this year. That's the man who is going to _grade my homework._ ”

Faramir was all but hyperventilating.

“Hey, calm down mate,” Pippin said, putting an arm around Faramir’s shaking shoulders. “I know your dad sucks harder than a dementor giving a hickey, but we'll get through this. You’ve got us.”

“Yeah,” Merry agreed and pulled both his friends into a tight hug, not caring if they were blocking the traffic in the corridor. “You’ve got us.”

“What are we doing?” they heard Éowyn’s voice behind them after a while.

“Hugging Foxy, get in here.”

“My name’s not Foxy,” Faramir complained in a muffled voice, but shut up when Éowyn stretched an arm into the hugging trio and awkwardly patted his head.

“Um. There, there.”

Merry extended an arm to pull her into the hug and said, “Éowyn?”

“Yeah?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re not very in touch with your emotions?”

“Oh yeah.”

 

* * *

 

The following week Merry and Pippin worked double as hard to make sure Faramir was smiling enough, even Éowyn made an effort to be extra considerate, but the presence of his father seemed to get to him anyway. While Pippin’s preferred way of cheering Faramir up was to make funny faces and feed him chocolate, Éowyn’s way of expressing her sympathy was to pass him the salt at dinner or throwing half a hot-cross bun at his face at lunch, claiming that she was full so he could have it. Denethor wasn’t making it any easier to keep Faramir happy though. They only had one class a week with him, and fortunately Denethor preferred eating alone in his office so they were saved from having to endure his looming presence during meals, but they would run into him in the corridors every now and then. Those moments were the worst, because Boromir would often be in his father’s company, and seeing them laugh and embrace each other while barely even acknowledging Faramir’s existence _hurt_.

“Chin up,” Pippin said during lunch the following Thursday. History class that morning had been hellish; not once had Mr Stewart let Faramir answer a question, not even when he was the only student with their hand up. “You’ll forget all about him this weekend. It’s Halloween, and the first Hogsmeade visit is always legendary!”

Merry snorted. “You mean you buy a legendary amount of sweets, get a sugar rush and run around the village like a rabbit on speed for an hour while dragging your poor friends behind you, and then crash and fall asleep in the carriage on the way back home. Then you repeat it at the Halloween feast later.”

“That’s what I said, legendary!”

Faramir looked somewhat cheered up at the prospect of watching Pippin’s antics, and getting away from school, but he continued stabbing at his mashed potatoes with his fork rather than eating. He didn’t properly smile or look up from his mistreated food until Éowyn arrived: late and dressed in her quidditch uniform as usual.

“You realise there’s only ten minutes left of the lunch break, right?” Pippin said around a mouthful of potatoes. He did not intend to waste those last ten minutes.

“You realise you’re incredibly short, right?” Éowyn shot back, stretching for a napkin to put her food on so she could eat on her way to the Defence class. She paused and narrowed her eyes. “Actually you’re really short. Like, I’ve-seen-first-years-taller-than-you short. And Merry too.”

“Cheers, cap.”

“No I _mean_ it. Pippin, Faramir, get up and stand back to back.”

“Is this really necessary?” Pippin grumbled, annoyed at being distracted from the last of his bangers and mash. “I know I hardly measure up to Mr Tall and Handsome here.”

“Faramir’s not that tall, I’m taller than him,” Éowyn scoffed as the boys stood up, then noticed Faramir’s disheartened look. “But only by an inch or so.”

Pippin had always known that he was short, but he was used to hanging around Merry (who was decidedly even shorter) and Faramir (who had only recently had his growth-spurt thanks to latent puberty in combination with his transition spells). Besides, at home Pippin’s whole family was far shorter than the average wix, and at Hogwarts there were so many students of different ages and heights that there was always someone shorter than him. Now that he thought about it though… He couldn’t think of a single person in his year that didn’t have at least three inches on him… Except for Merry, of course, who was at _least_ a foot shorter!

“Merlin’s fluffy nose hair! Pip, you’re like a full head shorter than Foxy.”

Pippin looked up at Faramir, who indeed seemed weirdly tall. He also noticed that his friend didn’t protest at his nickname like he usually did, instead he was sort of red in the face. Hm.

“Merry, get up here so I can compare you with Pippin.” Éowyn was using her Captain’s voice, ordering more than asking.

“I can already tell you I’m taller than Pip,” Merry said, completely delusional as usual, and awkwardly made his way to the other side of the table by crawling underneath it. (Pippin fondly remembered a time when they would carelessly parkour over the tables to get to the other side, dishes be damned, but Gandalf the Grump put a stop to that like he did everything that made life worth living.)

Éowyn squinted at Merry, who now stood pressed against Pippin’s back. His body heat was welcome and warming in the somewhat chilly hall.

“I’m not sure, I can’t tell a difference. Faramir? What do you think?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Pippin exclaimed. “I’m clearly taller than that little goblin.”

“In your dreams.” Merry was shaking his head.

“I’ve always been taller than you.”

“Pippin,” Merry turned around and put a condescending hand on his shoulder, “Everyone knows _I’m_ the tall one. You’re the short one.”

This was beyond ridiculous. “Please, Merry. You’re what, 4’11’’? Whereas me, I’m pushing 5’1’’! Faramir, back me up on this!”

Faramir only shook his head. “I think you’re the same height, lads. It’s hard to tell though, you both have so much hair.”

Merry gasped. “I have never been so insulted in my whole life. You take that back!”

Pippin turned his nose up and said, “You’d better just accept defeat, short stuff.”

“Is that right? How about _now_?!” Merry cried, then he grabbed hold of Pippin’s tie and tried his best to shove a sausage up his nose.

“Argh! Get off me you tiny bastard!” Pippin fumbled around blindly for something to retaliate with, accidentally putting his hand in a pot of mashed potatoes… Brilliant! He brought the hand up to Merry’s face and rubbed the potatoes everywhere he could reach. His success was immediate; Merry let go off his tie, trying to get the mash out of his eyes, and Pippin took the opportunity to dive for a dish of peas, raising it over his head as Merry gained the presence of mind to reach for his wand, then-

The peas were gently but firmly removed from Pippin’s hands by someone behind him.

“Surely you are too well-brought-up to throw peas,” Aragorn’s voice said, and Pippin spun around.

“Professor! I- We were just- I mean-“

“You were just having a good old-fashioned food fight , yes I could tell.” Aragorn didn’t seem angry, but it was hard to tell with him, he was so… _intense_ ** _._** “It’s a shame to waste food, but a commendable use of the mashed potatoes, I must say. When your opponent is blocking access to your wand, using the environments to your benefit to make them step back is the best tactic. However, you should have gone straight for your wand, like Mr Brandybuck did, instead of the peas.”

“Uh,” Pippin said, as eloquently as could be expected from someone whose hands were covered in potatoes and had little pieces of sausage on, and in, his nose.

“Now I suggest you clean up the mess you’ve made, then hurry to class. If you cannot beat me to the classroom you _will_ be considered tardy, and both of you will get detention.” He turned around and left the two boys standing there, staring at his back.

“Is it just me, or is Professor Aragorn a bit… weird?” Merry said, before starting to clean himself up.

“You’re telling me.” Pippin looked around and noticed that Éowyn and Faramir had sensibly left the table at some point during the food fight. They were probably already at the Defence class. “Come on, let’s hurry. I don’t fancy getting another detention this week, the one after that toilet thing was enough.”

“Yeah, let’s go, lil’ fella’.” Merry grabbed his bag and started for the entrance of the Great Hall.

“Hey! You’ll pay for that!” Pippin shouted after him, pausing only to seize a handful of napkins for his sticky hands before rushing after him.

 

* * *

 

Even though they almost toppled over several coats of armour, running all the way to class was worth it, because when they got there, Professor Aragorn hadn’t arrived yet. Another detention averted. They paused a little way away from the crowd of waiting students to catch their breath. After all, they had an image to uphold as effortlessly cool and carefree.

“There’s Éowyn and Faramir,” Merry said as he regained the ability to breathe properly. He started to move in their direction, but Pippin suddenly grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Wait, isn’t there something a bit strange about this picture?”

Merry frowned and looked at his two friends, who were chatting pleasantly with each other. “What are you talking about?”

“ _Look_! Don’t you see how Faramir looks down and blushes a little every time he says something. And there! Éowyn never smiles like that when talking to us!”

“What, you don’t think- Holy hippogriff!” Éowyn had just playfully boxed Faramir on the arm. “That didn’t even look like it _hurt_! When she punches me like that I’m sore for days!”

“Merry,” said Pippin in a dramatic whisper, leaning closer, “Our friends are falling in love. This could be either the worst thing that has ever happened to humanity, or the greatest event in all of recorded history. I think I have a plan to make sure it’s the second option.”

Merry grinned. “Probably a severe exaggeration, but I’m loving the energy. I’m in.”

“Right, so this is what we need to do…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Hogsmeade!
> 
> Clarification: Faramir is a trans boy in this story, thus the "transition spells".


	7. Halloween in Hogsmeade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devious plans, butterbeer, and sweets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, I hope it was at least somewhat worth the wait. At least it's almost double the length of the last chapter, right?

As Saturday morning dawned, the excitement in the castle was palpable. Even the late-October weather seemed to be looking forward to a day of fun in Hogsmeade, blessing the impatient students with a few rays of sun as they shuffled into the carriages. The first Hogsmeade visit off the year was always a special occasion, in great part due to the fact that most students had not had a chance to replenish their dwindling supplies of sweets since Diagon Alley before the start of term — except for those who could afford to order by owl or had enviably liberal parents willing to send them treats throughout the term. Almost better than a day of shopping and getting away from the castle for a bit was the fact that the magnificent Halloween feast would be awaiting the students when they returned to Hogwarts. Well, at least those who had not already gorged themselves on sweets to the point that even looking at food made them gag. Merry recalled doing just that in his third and fourth year — the days of his foolish youth — and had made a pact with the gang that this year none of them would even touch the spoils of their Honeydukes raid until Sunday morning, all the better to enjoy the gastronomic miracle that was the Halloween feast.

This year, however, Honeydukes wasn't the only goal with the trip. This was the year that would be remembered in the history books as the year Merry and Pippin — matchmakers extraordinaire — got Éowyn and Faramir to realise that they were made for each other. The plan was simple; after arriving in Hogsmeade the four of them would hurry along to Honedukes before all the good sweets were picked off by the hoard of sugar-starved students, and when they left for their next destination Merry and Pippin would come up with some clever excuse to go off on their own, leaving Éowyn and Faramir alone to socialise for the rest of the day. The idea was that a bit of alone time — free from the distraction that was Merry and Pippin’s captivating and stimulating company — the two lovebirds would come to realise how much they enjoyed each other’s company even when Merry and Pippin were not there to provide constant entertainment of the highest quality. This would inevitably lead to snogging sometime in the near future. Their plan was simple, elegant, and airtight; nothing could go wrong.

 

* * *

The first thing that went wrong was Éowyn’s mood. Being stressed out and on her way to Hogsmeade against her will was hardly the prime conditions for romance. Éowyn, being captain of the Ravenclaw quidditch team, was of the opinion that her and Merry’s time would be better spent on the quidditch pitch to prepare for next week’s match against the Gryffindors. She was, however, forced to accept that there would be no practising that day since every single member of her team had refused to miss out on the first Hogsmeade trip. This did not stop her from muttering about how she was surrounded by lazy players — “with no trace of House pride, might I add” — all the way to the village. It wasn’t until they climbed out of the carriage and were immediately swept along by the stream of students heading for Honedukes that she actually admitted that Hogsmeade trips could maybe — _maybe_ — be worth missing out on some practise time.

The second thing that went wrong was the torrential downpour that greeted them outside of Honeydukes when they finished fighting over the last chocolate cauldrons and fizzing whizzbees. They emerged into the rain exhausted but victorious, carrying enough sweets to last them at least another two months. (Alright, maybe one month. Actually, that might be an optimistic estimate, but at least a few weeks. Probably. Possibly.) Cursing the fickle Scottish weather, they rushed to take cover at the Three Broomsticks to save themselves and their sweets from the rain, and to draw up a new plan for the day. They were sopping wet by the time they stumbled into the inn, and they had to fight their way to one of the last unoccupied tables as the inn was rapidly filling up with people trying to escape death by drowning.

“Why does bad things always happen to me?” Pippin groaned as he tried to wring some water out of his hair. “I’m a good person, aren’t I? Why did it have to rain today of all days?”

“The answers to those questions are, in order: because you’re a Took; debatable; and because we’re in Scotland,” Merry replied, but took pity on his friend and used a spell to help him dry up.

Before they had a chance to settle down enough to go order something at the bar, they were joined at the table by Frodo and Sam, who had been there for a while already judging from the dryness of their clothes and the nearly empty butterbeers in their hands.

“Are the two of you seriously boring enough that you went straight here instead of to Honeydukes?” Pippin asked.

Frodo sat down beside Pippin and said, “Why would we go there at the same time as everyone else? When we left the carriage everyone was rushing over there, seemingly ready to fight anyone who got in their way, but in here it was calm and quiet.”

“I agree,” Faramir said, “but it’s a necessary evil. Everyone knows that they’ll run out of all the good sweets if you don’t get there early. Otherwise you’re just left with the chocolate frogs, and sure, they’re alright, but you can only eat so many before you get sick of having to catch your own sweets before they jump away.”

Before Frodo could answer, they heard someone call his and Sam’s names and Rosie Cotton came in through the front door and made her way across the room to their table. Apparently, the cunningness of her Slytherin brain had allowed her to use a spell to shield her from the rain, because while her hair was somewhat bushier than usual, she and the bags she was carrying were otherwise dry. After putting the bags on the table she gave Frodo a quick peck on the top of his head and Sam a smooch on the cheek before pulling up a chair and sitting down at the end of the now crowded table.

Noticing the Honeydukes logo on the bags Sam was eagerly digging into, Pippin said, “Oh, I see. You, Sam, should have been in Slytherin too. Sending your girlfriend to do the fighting for you and buy you all the sweets you desire, did you? And all the while you’re kicking it back with your boyfriend by the bar where it’s warm and dry and no one’s trying to pull your hair because you grabbed the last package of Pepper Imps. Very clever!”

Rosie just laughed and picked up a professionally wrapped package from one of the bags, labelled  _Mr Frodo Baggins_ . “You know you can just send them an owl and they’ll pack you everything you want in advance so that you can just come and pick it up whenever without having to worry about hair-pulling and running out of your favourites?”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Merry said, watching as Rosie handed the package to Frodo, who opened it with a frankly annoying air of self-satisfaction as he picked out and ate a levitating sherbet ball.

“What, you got sherbet balls? That’s not fair!” Pippin cried. “I love those but there weren’t any left when I got to the flying sweets section!”

“Well, you should have thought of that before deciding that brute force was the best way to buy sweets,” Frodo retorted, but caved when he saw Pippin’s puppy eyes (the effect of which was almost a kind of magic in itself) and handed over a few of the coveted sweets. “Honestly, Pippin. You have two friends in Ravenclaw, at least one of them should have figured this out by know.”

“I resent the implications of that sentence,” Éowyn said, quirking an eyebrow. “Can we finally order something? Just because we’ve used some drying spells doesn’t mean that it wouldn’t be nice to get a hot, foamy pint of butterbeer to warm up properly.”

After taking a show of hands of who wanted what beverage — everyone opting for the butterbeer as they were all both desperate for something warming and too young to legally buy firewhisky — Rosie headed for the bar, claiming that her family knew the owners of the Three Broomsticks so she might be able to get them a discount. The rest of the table dug into Frodo and Sam’s sweets, bemoaning the presence of several of their favourites that they had not had a chance to get for themselves.

After a few minutes spent haggling over what price Frodo would accept for a handful of his liquorice wands, Frodo lowered his voice and said, “Is it just me, or has the man in the corner over there been staring at us ever since we sat down here?”

With a complete lack of subtlety everyone at the table turned their heads to stare at the man in question. Across the crowded room, a weather-beaten man seemed to have made an effort to find the most shadowy corner in the whole inn in order to lurk in it. Despite the warm room and the blazing fireplace just a couple of feet away from him, he was wearing the hood of his cloak, keeping his face shrouded in shadows. The only thing visible under his hood was the gleam of his eyes and the long pipe he was smoking, yet it was obvious that his gaze was intently fixed on their table, and, more specifically, on Frodo.

“He’s staring at you, mate,” Merry whispered.

“But why? Who is he?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Éowyn said. “It’s Professor Elessar.”

“Aragorn? How can you tell?”

“He’s wearing the same outfit he wore the first day of class. You know, that time he fell into that swamp.” She suddenly blushed. “Not that I notice what he wears, of course.”

“Of course,” Merry and Pippin echoed, sharing a look of mischievous disbelief.

“Doesn’t look like he’s washed those clothes since then,” Faramir muttered and started picking at a loose splinter on the table.

Éowyn’s eyes flickered towards Faramir, then she whispered urgently, “Shut up, he’s coming over here.”

The professor was indeed striding across the room towards them, only removing his hood when he reached their table.

“Mr Baggins. Might I have a word with you in privacy?” he said, never taking his eyes of Frodo.

“I- Have I done something wrong, sir?”

“On the contrary. But what I wish to speak to you about is best said away from eager ears. I would say that it will only take a minute, but I fear that what I have to tell you might take some time. Do join me upstairs at your leisure.” And with that, he walked away, heading for the stairs to the upper floor of the inn.

After a moment of silence, Pippin said, “Can I have your sweets if you don’t return and you’re never seen again until you turn up face-down in a ditch somewhere?”

Frodo didn’t answer, but stood up to follow Aragorn. Sam stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“Be careful. I don’t mean no disrespect towards a teacher, but he’s a real shady bloke.”

Frodo nodded and then he was off. Attentive eyes would have noticed Gandalf entering the inn a few moments later, ascending the same stairs as Frodo and Aragorn, but the students were far too distracted by the arrival of Rosie and half a dozen butterbeers to pay any attention to the door.

 

* * *

They were all several butterbeers in and in good spirits when the rain finally showed signs of  _maybe_ considering taking the rest of the day off. With a grand gesture, Pippin downed the last dregs of his current drink and proclaimed the need for another one. When Faramir pushed back his chair and offered to join him at the bar, Pippin loudly objected that Merry owed him a drink or two and dragged said victim away from the table.

“What’s going on?” Merry asked as they reached the bar. “We both know that if someone here owes the other drinks, food, or money, it’s you.”

“Dear Merry, I  cannot begin to tell you how wrong you are, but nevermind all that. I brought you here to hammer out the final details of our cunning master plan.” When Merry just raised his eyebrows in anticipation, Pippin furrowed his own. “Well, don’t just stand there. Order me a drink, or the ruse won’t seem convincing.”

Merry rolled his eyes but complied. He never did have much willpower when it came to resisting Pippin’s transparent attempts at tricking him into giving him things.

Now,” Pippin continued once he had a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his hands (accompanied by a plate of scones he had “tricked” Merry into splitting with him, paid for by Merry of course), “The rain is letting up, everyone is under the influence of butterbeer and stimulating conversation, and — as soon as we finish these truly  _scrumptious_ scones — it is time to put our plan into action and own this mission. Quest… Thing.”

“Eloquent as usual, Pip.” Merry shook his head, but he leaned in closer and said, “So I’ve been listening to make sure that there is a route for our unsuspecting victims to follow even if we disappear. It seems Éowyn wants to go to Spintwitches Sporting Needs for new broom polish, and then to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Faramir is more interested in Tomes and Scrolls and the Shrieking Shack Lycanthropy Museum, but I’m positive that he won’t mind going anywhere she goes. I’m fairly certain that she could be convinced to accept his suggestions as well, at least if she’s as besotted as he is. Aaand you’re not listening anymore.”

Pippin was distracted observing their friends at the table with a soft look on his face and humming some muggle song which Merry couldn’t quite place. Something about lions in love, he thought. He followed his friend’s gaze in time to see Éowyn tousle Faramir’s hair and laugh at something. Faramir seemed happier than he had in weeks, possibly because his father was of the opinion that staying in the castle and brooding was more enjoyable than joining the students in Hogsmeade. Éowyn, too, seemed to be relaxed and enjoying herself. It was nice, seeing her let loose like this. While she was not exactly a sad person, she did have bouts of melancholy, sometimes caused by her almost unhealthily intense relationship with quidditch. Sure, Merry was all for playing to win when it came to quidditch, but he usually managed to accept fair defeats with a smile. Éowyn sometimes seemed to stake too much of her self-worth on her quidditch performance and could start to shut down socially before matches, and she sometimes went into a downward spiral following a defeat. Merry would be the last person to suggest to any girl that she needed a boy to make her happy, but he could see that growing closer to Faramir had been good for Éowyn, distracting her from overthinking things perhaps. Here she was, the weekend before the first game of the season for crying out loud, drinking butterbeer and joking around without a care in the world. And yes, perhaps the butterbeer was partly to blame, but Faramir seemed to have a soothing effect on her.

It was Pippin who shook him out of his pensive state, saying, “Does staring at them like this make us creepy or just good friends?”

Merry blinked and turned his attention back to Pippin, who had managed to finish all the scones but for one sad little piece, not much bigger than a crumb, while Merry was otherwise preoccupied. “Good friends, definitely.” He tried to scoop up the last of the clotted cream with the crumb, but was left disappointed as it just fell apart in his hand. “Anyway, we need a watertight excuse to leave them alone as soon as we go outside again. What do you think could work?”

“No, no. We can’t decide that yet. It needs to be spontaneous and improvised, otherwise it won’t seem natural. Ooh, did you see that?” Pippin pointed to their friends and Merry looked, but he had missed whatever had made Pippin so excited.

He shook his head, and Pippin said, “Éowyn, she— Nevermind, I’ll show you.” He straightened up and suddenly mimicked tossing his hair over his shoulder. “Oh, Faramir!” he said in a high-pitched voice, batting his eyelashes. “You’re so funny!” He giggled in a way that would surely have earned him a black eye, had Éowyn heard him. He then put his hand over Merry’s, leaned in close, and said, “Tell me again how you cast that Patronus, you’re so impressive!”

The display was so ridiculous and out of character that Merry couldn’t stop himself from bursting out laughing. “I am one hundred percent sure that that is not what happened,” he said, but didn’t remove his hand from underneath Pippin’s. Pippin’s hands were slightly sticky from the scones, but softer than his own — Pippin being a Seeker, not a Beater like him.

“I swear! I mean I didn’t hear what they said, but that’s what she did!”

“Sure, of course it was. Éowyn just had a complete change of personality while we were sitting here and suddenly started acting like the girls in the romance novels you pretend you don’t read.”

“Actually I proudly admit to reading those. They are classic literature, you wouldn’t get it.”

“No” - Merry held up a hand in protest - “because no one in those books acts like a normal person. It’s all giggle here, and swooning there, and ‘Oh dear, I seem to have fallen on top of you and it’s so hard to get off so I better just lie here and stare into your soulful eyes for a while!’”

“So you admit that _you_ have read them!”

“No I haven’t! I mean— Look, it was just for research purposes. Research doesn’t count!”

“Oh, well—” Pippin started, but was interrupted by the sudden presence of Éowyn ad Faramir in front of them.

“The weather’s cleared up, and we thought we would head off to the Lycanthropy Museum before it changes again,” Éowyn said. “Are you almost done fighting each other?”

Pippin jumped of his stool, leaving Merry’s hand suddenly far colder than it had been seconds before. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

 

* * *

“I think I need to take improvisation classes,” Pippin mused, pressing his nose against a window, trying to spot Éowyn and Faramir.

He and Merry had ended up in the Hogsmeade Post Office after a rather stunning display of his lack of improvisational ability. As they made their way towards the Shrieking Shack, Pippin had suddenly stopped everyone in their tracks by exclaiming, “Oh dear! I just remembered Merry and I have to go do something. You two go on ahead and we’ll catch up with you later.” That part was scripted — if you could call it that — and so far so good, but then they went off script.

“We'll come with you,” Faramir said.

“Yeah,” Éowyn added, “You're not sneaking off to Weasleys’ without us so we won't know what you'll get in case you want to play a prank on us, are you?”

“No no no,” Merry assured them. “We're just popping off to… Pippin, where was it you needed to go?”

Pippin opened and closed his mouth a few times, then he heard himself say, “the Post Office. I need to post a letter to my ma.” He cursed inwardly at the lame excuse.

Faramir frowned. “What happened to Toby?”

“Toby?”

“Your  _owl,_ Toby?”

“Right, him. Nothing, but I have to post this through the muggle mail, you see.”

Éowyn frowned. “Pip, your mum's a  _witch_ .”

Pippin panicked. “Merry, my ma's a witch!” he squeaked, turning to his partner in crime in desperate need of backup.

Merry patted his shoulder and turned to their friends. “I think we can all agree that Pip would forget his head if it wasn't nailed on, but now that we're here, and he brought the letter, we might as well just go post it now before he forgets about it. You two go ahead, I insist. This won't take a minute.”

Éowyn and Faramir looked sceptical, but then Éowyn shrugged, apparently satisfied to let her friends be silly on their own if they insisted on it. “Suit yourselves. See you later.”

As they turned away, heading in the direction of the Post Office, Merry leaned in and whispered, “How did you forget that you  _own_ an  _owl_ ?”

“I panicked! I didn't know what to say!”

“So, do you think that maybe, just  _maybe_ , we should have practised before, like I said?”

Pippin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, whatever Mr Oh-I’m-a-Ravenclaw-I-need-to-plan-everything-in-advance. We sorted it out in the end, didn't we?”

“You mean I did.”

“Shut up.”

And so they had ended up having to enter the Post Office, too nervous that their friends would look back and get suspicious if they went anywhere else. Pippin tried to keep an eye on them through the window, but he was interrupted by a voice saying, “How can I help you today?”

He turned around and met the eyes of the witch behind the counter.

“Oh, I— I’m mostly browsing.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You’re browsing in a Post Office?”

He could practically feel Merry’s facepalm beside him. “I mean— I'm posting a letter. I just… haven't written it yet. Could I borrow a quill?”

He was fairly certain all the woman wanted to do was shake her head at him in despair, but thankfully she was professional enough to just put on her best customer service smile and say, “Certainly, there's quill and parchment on the desk over there.”

Pippin smiled awkwardly and hurried over to the desk.

“They're out of view now,” Merry said, moving away from the window and joining Pippin. “We should be safe just heading back to the Three Broomsticks and waiting there until it's time to go back.”

“And miss going to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes? No way, Éowyn’s plan was much better.” He could tell by Merry's mischievous grin that he approved of the plan. “Wait, I'll just post this letter so that witch doesn't hex me or something.” He grabbed a piece of parchment, scrawled a quick “I love you. Sincerely, Pippin” on it, and headed off to the counter.

“Express owl?” the witch asked.

“Er, sure, whatever.” He told her the name of his mum and handed over a few knuts, and then they were finally out of there.

They rushed off to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes to stock up on their joke products before their friends could get there, then they spent the rest of the day back at the Three Broomsticks, just taking it easy until Éowyn and Faramir walked in just a few minutes before they needed to head off back to the castle.

“There you are! Where have you been?” Éowyn asked, a touch of annoyance in her voice.

“Oh there was a dreadful line at the Post Office, and then we couldn't find you again, so we thought it would be better to go back here and wait for you,” Merry replied. “Did you have a good time?”

Éowyn and Faramir glanced at each other, then quickly looked away.

“It was fine,” they both said.

“Great,” Pippin grinned.

They spent the carriage ride back to the castle discussing the latest broom gossip Éowyn had picked up at Spintwitches (apparently the Nimbus line was making a comeback with a new model), and by the time they drew up by the castle they had nearly forgotten their devious match-making plan, focusing only on the feast that awaited them in the Great Hall. It had been a good day.


End file.
